D I  S  CT  P 


SARA  DEAN 


415D 


A  DISCIPLE  OF  CHANCE 


A    DISCIPLE 
Of  CHANCE 

AN   EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY 
LOVE   STORY 


By    SARA     DEAN 

AUTHOR    OF    "TRAVERS" 


O,  sir,  to  wilful  men, 
The  injuries  that  they  themselvts  procure 
Must  be  their  schoolmasters 

SHAKESPEARE 


FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  •   •  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


March,   JQIO 


DEDICATED  IN  HUMILITY 
To  MY  FATHER 


222S250 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  OUTSIDE  WHITE'S  CHOCOLATE-HOUSE  ,  i 

II.  HAZARD 5 

III.  THE  WAGER 16 

IV.  A  PLEASANT  HOUR-SLAYER    ....  22 
V.  THE  SCARECROW  OF  TEMPLE  BAR  .      .  35 

VI.  A  RESCUE 46 

VII.  MR.  MANSUR  INDULGES  IN  AN  IMPULSE  66 
VIII.  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  PATCHES     ...  75 
IX.  LADY  CAROLINE  UNMASKS     ....  79 
X.  A  HEDGEROW  BURLESQUE       ....  89 
XL  CAPTAIN  ELLIOT  REQUIRES  REINFORCE- 
MENTS       99 

XII.  THE  LORD  OF  THE  MANOR    ....  102 

XIII.  THE  SEQUEL 107 

XIV.  THE  PENALTY  OF  TRUTHFULNESS    .      .  115 
XV.  MISTRESS  MARJORIE 123 

XVI.  MASTER  CUPID 129 

XVII.  THE    COUP 145 

XVIII.  THE  LADY  PHILIDA 158 

XIX.  LORD  YERINGTON  REVIEWS  His  OBLIGA- 
TIONS         177 

XX.  VANITY  FAIR 186 

XXI.  A  GIRL'S  HEART 194 

XXII.  THRUST  AND  PARRY 201 

XXIII.  IN  THE  ITALIAN  GARDEN       ....  208 

XXIV.  MISTRESS  SYBIL  PLAYS  FATE  .      .      .     .  215 
XXV.  UNAVOWED  CONSPIRATORS  222 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVI.  THE  DUCHESS  CREATES  ENTANGLE- 
MENTS      :.     :.  233 

XXVII.  THE  YELLOW-WHEELED  CHAISE     .  242 

XXVIII.  LADY  CAROLINE  CHECKMATES    .     .  248 

XXIX.  THE  ROOM  IN  THE  TOWER    .     .     .261 

XXX.  AN  UNDERGROUND  FLIGHT    .     .     .  268 

XXXI.  THE  WHITE  LADY  OF   LONE  ELM 

MANOR 275 

XXXII.  THE  TITHE-BARN 289 

XXXIII.  A  JACOBITE  HIDING-PLACE     .     .     .  298 

XXXIV.  COMMITTED  TO  DECEPTION     .     .     .  308 
XXXV.  LONDON  TOWN      .     .     .     .     .     .318 

XXXVI.  A  WOMAN'S  HEART    .....  323 

XXXVII.  A  MENACE       .......  332 

XXXVIII.  THE  BALL       ....     .     .     .  341 

XXXIX.  THE  DUEL  .    .     .     >     >:    :.     >     .  352 

XL.  PHILIDA'S  COMING      :.     >     >,    ;.:     .  369 

XLI.  AN  EXPOSE       .     >:    >,    :.     >-   d    >  383 

XLII.  DISENTANGLED  .     .     r.:    >.]    »    i.;    i.;  405 


A   PROLOGUE 

What  is  it  then, — some  Reader  asks, — 

What  is   it  that   attaches 
Your  fancy  so  to  fans  and  masks, — 

To    periwigs    and    patches? 

Is  Human  Life  to-day  so  poor, — 

So   bloodless, — you    disdain   it, 
To  "  galvanise  "  the  past  once  more  ? 

Permit  me.     I'll  explain  it. 

This  Age  I  grant  (and  grant  with  pride), 

Is   varied,   rich,   eventful ; 
But,  if  you  touch  its  weaker  side, 

Deplorably  resentful: 

Belaud  it,  and  it  takes  your  praise 

With   air  of  calm  conviction ; 
Condemn  it,  and  at  once  you  raise 

A  storm  of  contradiction. 

Whereas  with  these  old  Shades  of  mine, 

Their  ways  and  dress  delight  me; 
And  should  I  trip  by  word  or  line, 

They  cannot  well   indict  me. 

Not  that  I  think  to  err.     I  seek 

To  steer  'twixt  blame  and  blindness; 

I  strive  (as  some  one  said  in  Greek) 
To  speak  the  truth  with  kindness: 

But — should   I  fail   to  render  clear 

Their  title,  rank,  or  station — 
I  still  may  sleep  secure,  nor  fear 

A  suit  for  defamation. 

— AUSTIN  DOBSON. 


A  Disciple  of  Chance 

CHAPTER   I 

OUTSIDE   WHITE'S    CHOCOLATE-HOUSE 

But  here  among  us  the  chief  trade  is 
To   rail   against   our   lords   and    ladies; 
To  aggravate  their  smallest  failings, 
To  expose  their  faults  with  saucy  railings. 

— A  Muse  in  Livery. — DODSLEY. 

"  Two  o'clock  and  a  fine  morning,"  called  the  watchman. 

For  hours  London  had  lain  in  almost  unbroken  obscur- 
ity. The  lanterns,  which  the  grudging  citizens  had  sus- 
pended before  their  houses,  had  long  since  guttered  out. 
Here  and  there  amidst  this  gloom  was  etched  the  orange- 
coloured  oblong  of  a  lighted  window;  but  for  the  most 
part  the  tortuous  streets,  dusky  even  in  daylight,  were 
steeped  in  pitchy  darkness. 

To  this  darkness  the  scene  before  White's  chocolate- 
house  struck  a  note  of  sharp  contrast. 

There  the  torches  of  the  waiting  linkboys  cast  a  glare 
of  shifting  light,  and  the  brilliance,  flooding  through  the 
chocolate-house  windows,  struck  long  slants  of  yellow 
upon  the  thatch  of  straw  spread  over  the  way.  The  foot- 
men had  extinguished  their  flambeaux  and  withdrawn  to 
a  neighbouring  taphouse.  The  less  fortunate  coachmen, 
who  dared  not  leave  their  boxes,  nodded,  and  the  droop- 
ing horses  slept  upon  their  feet. 

Before  the  chocolate-house,  and  for  a  hundred  feet  to 
right  and  left  of  it,  straw  was  spread,  to  deaden  the  sound 
of  passing  vehicles. 


%  A   DISCIPLE    OF   CHANCE 

A  slim  man,  in  a  livery  of  apricot  and  gold,  left  the 
house  whence  issued  the  babble  of  his  fellow-lackeys' 
voices,  and  advanced  with  mincing  steps  to  the  side  of  a 
great  gilt  coach. 

"  Wake  up,  Hawkins,"  he  cried,  "your  snores  fair  split 
my  ears.  Faith,  I  wonder,  if  you  must  sleep,  that  you  can- 
not manage  it  more  genteelly." 

Hawkins  started  into  life  all  on  the  defensive,  and  it 
was  only  by  an  agile  leap,  which  put  all  his  affectations  to 
flight,  that  the  footman  avoided  a  blow  from  his  whip- 
stock. 

"  Gad's  life!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  This  is  the  most  scurvy 
ingratitude,  when  I  have  brought  you  a  tankard  of  hot 
perry." 

"  Humph ! "  said  Hawkins,  with  a  long-drawn  breath, 
"  I  dreamt  I  made  a  pass  at  a  highwayman  on  Hounslow 
Heath.  Hadst  thee  been  but  three  inches  wider  in  the 
chest,  thee'd  have  had  a  smart  one.  Hand  it  up,  mon." 

Hawkins  took  the  battered  tankard  and  drank  off  its 
contents  without  pausing. 

"  Langley,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  the  back  of  his  hand 
across  his  lips,  "  there  are  times  when  I  see  the  making 
of  a  man  in  thee." 

Langley  dangled  the  returned  tankard  lightly  from  a 
finger-tip. 

"  La,"  he  answered,  "  I  would  I  could  say  I  saw  the 
making  of  a  pretty  fellow  in  you,  but  you  smack  over- 
much of  the  stables." 

"  The  stables,  quotha,"  cried  Hawkins  scornfully. 
"  Give  me  a  horse  any  day  to  those  in  there."  He  jerked 
an  indignant  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  lighted  choco- 
late-house windows.  "If  it's  beasts  you  want,  give  me 
horses,  not  monkeys." 

Langley  lifted  up  his  hands. 

"  I  protest  I  am  shocked  to  death,  Hawkins.     You're 


OUTSIDE  WHITE'S  CHOCOLATE-HOUSE     3 

fresh  from  Worcestershire.  It's  like  his  lordship  might 
forget  your  family's  long  service  if  he  heard  that." 

"  Marry,"  came  huskily  from  the  box,  "  I've  seen  his 
lordship  riding  to  hounds  like  the  best  gentleman  of  them 
all.  No  one  could  take  his  six-barred  gate  better  than 
he.  Now  see  for  yourself,  man.  Will  you  look  there! 
Straw  strewn  in  the  street  as  if  for  a  lady  for  her  lying- 
in.  No  one  respects  a  gentleman  as  can  carry  his  six 
bottles  more  than  I ;  but  all  these  frills  and  frother — this 
keeping  an  honest  man  out  of  his  bed  until  'tis  clear 
morning,  and  four-footed  creatures  standing  for  twelve 
hours  on  end !  It  ain't  human !  it  ain't  like  the  Gowers, 
that  it  ain't !  " 

The  sky  was  brightening  perceptibly,  revealing  the  vast 
army  'of  chimneys  against  the  grey,  and  bringing  out  a 
ghostly  gleam  of  apricot  in  Langley's  livery,  as  he  stood 
behind  the  posts  that  guarded  the  footway  from  the  muddy 
road  without.  He  tossed  back  the  fancied  ruffles  at  his 
wrists  with  a  gesture  he  had  often  studied  in  the  fragment 
of  mirror  that  served  him  in  his  dark  quarters. 

"  Tore  Gad,  Hawkins,"  he  protested,  "  you  had  best 
unsay  that.  A  gallant,  merry-hearted  gentleman  is  his 
lordship,  despite  his  quips  and  his  whimsies.  I'm  glad  to 
serve  him  and  I  don't  blush  to  confess  I've  learned  much 
from  the  set  of  his  waistcoats.  I'd  back  him  at  sword- 
play  against  any  blood  in  the  realm.  And,  la,  it  would 
break  the  heart  of  you  to  see  him  in  the  park  of  a  morn- 
ing. His  manage  of  his  cane  is  an  inspiration,  and  his 
conduct  of  his  snuff-box  puts  the  ladies  in  a  flutter." 

Hawkins  growled  scornfully  in  his  throat. 

"  I've  a  black  bitch  at  home  as  can  walk  on  her  hind 
legs  and  curtsey  like  a  lady,  but  I  fancy  her  best  as  a 
ratter.  Let  me  see  his  lordship  at  it  'cross  country  with 
the  hounds  in  full  cry,  and  that  be  worthy  of  his  blood, 
say  I." 


4  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

At  this  instant  a  louder  shout  of  laughter  than  usual 
floated  out  from  the  chocolate-house.  The  outburst  was 
followed  by  an  exclamation,  a  cross-fire  of  voices  and  a 
renewed  clatter  of  dice. 

The  watchman,  sauntering  past  with  his  rattle,  stopped 
to  question. 

"  What  madness  is  within?  "  he  asked,  his  voice  wheez- 
ing through  his  upturned  collar,  and  his  breath  showing 
mistily. 

Hawkins,  from  his  perch  above  the  hammercloth,  rolled 
a  savage  eye  at  him. 

"  No  madness,  mon,"  he  answered.  '  'Tis  his  lord- 
ship's pleasure  to  be  merry,  and  a  good  way  'tis,  and  we'll 
hear  no  guttural  question  it." 

None  but  he  might  depreciate  a  Gower. 


CHAPTER   II 

HAZARD 

Come,  come,  leave  business  to  idlers  and  wisdom  to  fools: 
wit  be  my  faculty  and  pleasure  my  occupation ;  and  let 
Father  Time  shake  his  glass! 

— CONGREVE. 

A  SOUND  of  many  voices  arose  within  the  chocolate-house. 
It  was  the  hour  of  the  morning  when  even  the  polished 
beaux  of  the  eighteenth  century  became  careless  of  the 
come  and  go  of  conversation;  when  latent  egotism  re- 
vealed itself,  and  human  nature  grew  indifferent  to  its 
smiling  mask. 

The  wax  candles  had  burned  low,  been  snuffed,  re- 
placed and  burned  low  again.  The  air  was  stifling, 
heavy  with  the  reek  of  steaming  punch,  and  crossed  by 
varying  odours  wafted  far,  amid  the  float  of  powder  from 
scented  wigs — amber,  patchouli,  bergamot  and  the  insistent 
perfume  of  musk. 

Much  of  the  light  was  absorbed  by  the  dark,  unreflect- 
ing panelling  of  the  room,  but  still  the  scene  was  bright 
with  a  motley  of  colour  from  tamboured  and  tinselled 
waistcoats,  brocade  and  velvet  gold-laced  coats,  falling 
full  from  two  buttons  at  the  back,  wide  spreading  and 
buckramed,  their  set  the  test  of  sartorial  art. 

These  gentlemen  had  not  removed  their  coats  for  the 
greater  freedom  of  their  gaming-jackets,  which  they  al- 
ways kept  at  the  club  for  their  convenience.  They  were 
guests  of  the  Earl  of  Yerington,  whose  whim  it  was  to 
receive  them  there,  though  his  own  home  stood  but  a  long 
stone's  throw  away.  Yet  perhaps  they  all  played  with 
greater  relish  untrammelled  by  any  sense  of  more  intimate 


6  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

hospitality.  Even  hardened  gamblers  may  feel  a  faint 
pang  at  taking  over  large  sums  of  their  host's  gold,  and 
Lord  Yerington's  ill-luck  at  hazard  was  proverbial. 

The  waiters,  as  they  moved  about,  were  not  in  their 
usual  plain  brown,  but  were  liveried  bravely  in  apricot 
and  gold,  the  colours  of  the  host  of  the  evening,  who  de- 
clared the  dull  brown  gave  him  the  doldrums;  and  he  was 
not  the  man  to  count  the  cost  of  such  a  caprice.  He 
always  protested  that  he  had  long  since  forgotten  his 
birthday  and  trusted  to  the  peerage  for  assurance  that  his 
epitaph  should  read  aright. 

Yet,  though  this  whimsical  gentleman  permitted  his 
steward  to  discharge  all  his  'debts,  save  those  of  honour, 
he,  too,  kept  his  accounts  with  scrupulous  exactitude. 

As  the  air  within  the  room  grew  hotter,  the  reckless 
laughed  louder;  the  cautious  played  with  close-set  lips 
and  narrowed  eyes;  the  plethoric  spoke  indistinctly  of 
their  gams  and  losses;  the  choleric  became  fractious  and 
suspicious — while  others  carried  their  liquor  jauntily,  as 
did  Lord  Yerington,  who  bore  his  continued  losses 
throughout  the  evening  with  careless  bonhomie. 

Once  again  he  rattled  his  dice-box  and  threw. 

"  A  pox  on  it !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  the  devil  sits  on  my 
shoulder.  The  lowest  cast,  mark  you,  two  aces  and  a 
deuce," 

The  man  sitting  on  his  right,  whose  flushed  face  was 
shadowed  by  a  vast  periwig,  took  up  his  host's  remaining 
notes  without  a  change  of  expression. 

"  Ton  my  honour,"  said  Horace  Walpole,  from  where 
he  sat  half-way  down  the  table,  "  ever  fortissimo,  Yering- 
ton. 'Tis  monstrous  bad  art." 

The  table  was  burdened  with  gold  and  notes,  cul- 
minating in  a  glittering  heap  in  front  of  the  individual 
wearing  the  old-fashioned  wig  to  whom  Lord  Yering- 
ton's last  losses  had  gone.  The  latter  leaned  his  arms  on 


HAZARD  7 

the  empty  space  upon  the  table  before  him,  smilingly 
studying  his  neighbour's  face. 

"  'Slife !  Burroughs,"  he  cried,  "  at  what  figure  do  we 
buy  your  smiles?  There  lies  the  major  part  of  my  twelve 
thousand  pounds,  and  there  sit  you  as  glum  as  a  Chinese 
idol  at  an  auction.  Rouse  yourself,  man,  in  the  name  of 
mirth." 

George  Selwyn,  who  had  been  nodding  with  a  large 
sum  staked  before  him,  awakened  in  time  to  hear  this  last 
observation. 

"  Mark  Burroughs,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Horace 
Walpole,  "  Midas  to  the  life,  asses'  ears  and  all." 

Horace  Walpole  took  an  appreciative  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Faith,  this  Midas  simile  is  apt,"  he  said,  "  for  I  am 
told  this  gold-gorged  monster  starves  for  Lady  Caroline's 
smiles  which  Yerington  has  for  scarce  the  asking." 

Selwyn  lifted  his  eyebrows. 

"  Hath  this  bull  of  Basham  a  heart  ?  Nature,  capricious 
wench,  what  tricks  you  play !  "  he  sighed. 

"  Titania  loved  Bottom,"  said  Walpole. 

"  In  magic  midsummer,"  answered  Selwyn.  "  Yet, 
after  all,  there's  magic  in  the  air.  List,  my  son,  while  I 
chant  thee  the  latest  canticle.  I'm  told  the  lady's  virtuous, 
pure  as  a  mountain  stream,  as  coldly  chaste  and  unat- 
tainable as  a  glacier-guarded  Alp.  Amen !  " 

He  ended  with  his  eyes  rolled  ceiling-ward. 

Walpole  suppressed  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"  Whose  tale  is  this?  "  he  queried. 

"  Faith,  man,  'tis  his  own,"  and  George  Selwyn  nodded 
toward  his  host  with  a  comical  grimace.  "  He,  too,  a 
man  not  new  broke  to  the  town,  and  who  sets  the  tongue 
of  scandal  wagging  weekly  with  some  madness.  She's 
hoodwinked  him  completely,  or  I'll  tuck  no  more  Bur- 
gundy beneath  my  waistcoat.  The  ways  of  women  are 
riddles." 


8  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Don't  try  to  guess  them,  or  the  cumulous  cloud  you 
ponder  on,  tinged  with  the  rose  of  heaven  or  of  hell,  will 
turn  to  veriest  vapouring,"  said  Walpole  with  a  cynical 
shrug. 

Lord  Burroughs  made  no  reply  to  Yerington's  good- 
natured  challenge.  Mechanically  he  set  his  hand  upon  the 
high-piled  gold  before  him,  but  it  did  not  betray  the  claw- 
like  involuntary  clutch  of  the  miser.  It  lay  there,  the 
fingers  showing  heavy  and  primitive,  unredeemed  by  the 
care  expended  upon  them.  His  mien  was  absent  and 
absorbed.  An  acute  observer  might  have  detected  a  trace 
of  uneasiness  beneath  it.  His  face,  heavy  of  outline  and 
swarthy,  was  deeply  flushed.  His  lips  showed  sensuality; 
his  chin,  obstinacy;  and  his  eyes,  of  a  peculiar  opaque  grey, 
the  whites  now  faintly  streaked  with  red,  possessed  not  a 
redeeming  ray  of  animation.  He  had  been  drinking 
heavily,  and  he  was  to  drink  still  deeper  before  he  roused 
within  himself  the  courage  to  make  the  move  which  was 
to  create  a  tempest  in  the  room.  He  was  a  man  of  slug- 
gish imagination,  and  so  each  step  of  the  way  he  planned 
for  himself,  possessed  a  disconcerting  element  of  surprise. 
He  went,  as  it  were,  over  an  uncharted  course,  impelled 
from  deep  to  deep  by  his  resolve,  yet  uninspired  by  the 
animating  sparkle  of  adventure. 

"  Egad,  Yerington,"  drawled  a  vapid  youth,  with 
pinched  features  and  colourless  face,  who  nursed  one 
hand  in  a  muff,  while  the  other,  much  bejewelled,  played 
over  the  table,  "I'll  throw  a  main  with  you  for  a 
hundred  pounds." 

"  Sorry  I  can't  take  you,  Baxter,"  answered  Lord  Yer- 
ington,  "  but  I  resolved  to-night,  if  luck  went  against  me, 
I'd  lose  my  twelve  thousand  pounds;  but  not  a  penny 
more." 

"We'll  take  chequers,"  cried  Sir  Geoffrey  Baxter. 
"  He's  good  for  chequers,  isn't  he,  gentlemen  ?  " 


HAZARD  9 

And  he  laughed  a  thin,  high  laugh,  as  if  he  had  ut- 
tered a  witticism. 

"  Don't  think  me  scurvy  of  my  hospitality,"  answered 
Yerington.  "  I'll  wish  you  luck  to  a  man,  but  would  you 
have  me  forswear  myself  ?  " 

"To  yourself?  Of  course,"  said  Walpole.  "Would 
you  be  gaoler  to  your  own  vows?  Life  would  scarce  be 
worth  the  living  if  one  were.  Vows  to  yourself  in  sand, 
to  women — in  water." 

This  was  followed  by  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"  Egad,"  interpolated  Gilly  Williams,  "  that's  true  to 
you,  Walpole.  I'll  warrant  you  never  drank  heart-deep 
to  the  most  maddening  toast  that  ever  moved  a  minuet 
or  turned  men's  blood  to  flame." 

Lord  Yerington  had  risen  to  his  feet. 

"  Nay !  nay !  "  he  cried.  "  Let  us  drink  to  the  women 
in  wine, — not  in  anchoritish  water." 

A  murmur  of  approbation  went  about  the  room  and, 
with  varying  degrees  of  difficulty,  his  guests  rose  to  their 
feet. 

Their  host  raised  his  glass  high,  challenging  their  eyes 
as  he  called  the  toast, 

"  Here's  to  the  dear  sex  of  our  torment,  God  bless 
them!  "  he  cried,  his  white  teeth  flashing,  the  light  strik- 
ing sparks  from  the  jewels  on  his  ringed  fingers,  "  half 
angels,  half  sisters  of  Satan;  our  joy  and  our  undoing. 
Let  us  drink  to  them  in  wine  as  sparkling  as  their  eyes,  as 
intoxicating  as  their  charms,  which  dethrone  calm  reason, 
making  revered  philosophers  the  gibe  of  fools,  and  fools 
themselves  more  antic  in  their  follies !  " 

Sir  Geoffrey,  who  was  leaning  tipsily  forward,  support- 
ing himself  in  this  position  by  a  clutch  upon  the  table, 
now  spoke,  his  high  voice  sounding  shrilly  across  the  room. 

"  Now,  Yerington,  let  us  pledge  the  fairest  toast  in 
London." 


10  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  As  to  that,"  replied  Yerington  with  a  laugh,  "  there 
are  like  to  be  as  many  toasts  as  there  are  gentlemen." 

Sir  Geoffrey  sniggered,  with  a  leer  towards  Lord  Bur- 
roughs. 

"  Not  quite  so  many,  methinks,  Yerington.  You've  one 
now,  I  dare  swear,  on  the  top  of  your  mind.  Out  with 
it!  Give  us  the  beautiful  Lady  Caroline  Dashwood." 

The  room,  hushed  a  moment  before,  now  took  on  a 
more  meaning  silence.  Even  the  waiters,  ill  at  ease  in 
their  unaccustomed  liveries,  felt  instinctively  there  was 
something  in  the  wind,  and  paused  to  look  with  curiosity 
upon  the  group  around  the  table.  The  guests  looked  at 
one  another  furtively,  with  glances  which,  slight  as  they 
were,  were  clearly  perceptible  from  where  Yerington 
stood. 

Lord  Burroughs  made  an  involuntary  movement,  and 
for  a  moment  lowered  his  mask.  Lord  Yerington  looked 
down  into  his  face  and  surprised  there  a  slow,  smoulder- 
ing gleam  of  something  that  had  in  it  a  hint  of  unspeak- 
able malice.  From  him  he  looked  at  the  faces  of  his 
friends,  who  had  risen  to  the  former  toast  and  who  stood 
about  the  room  in  varying  degrees  of  the  perpendicular. 
Some  had  neckcloths  loosed,  the  wigs  of  many  were  awry, 
or  pushed  back  for  greater  coolness  in  the  hot  air,  while 
here  and  there  one  had  altogether  discarded  his,  and  pre- 
sented a  shaven  poll  to  the  host's  searching  gaze,  in  which 
a  spark  of  anger  was  beginning  to  appear. 

The  silence  was  too  expressive  to  be  mistakable. 

Lord  Yerington  leaned  a  little  further  forward  over 
the  table,  speaking  to  Sir  Geoffrey  in  a  tone  that  filled 
that  feeble-hearted  gentleman  with  a  panic-stricken  im- 
pulse of  apology.  Lord  Yerington,  though  his  lips  smiled, 
was  not  a  pleasant  man  to  cross  with  that  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Sir  Geoffrey,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  exquisite  polite- 
ness, "  you  were  pleased  to  mention  a  lady's  name  a  mo- 


HAZARD  11 

ment  since,  and  to  link  it  with  mine  in  a  phrase  that  ap- 
peared to  place  her  somewhat  intimately  within  my 
thoughts." 

"  An  accident,  damme,"  cried  Sir  Geoffrey,  his  tongue 
stammering  over  the  words,  "  the  plaguest  devil  of  an  acci- 
dent." 

Lord  Yerington,  his  demeanour  unruffled,  as  courteous 
as  before,  looked  from  countenance  to  countenance  of 
those  who  lined  the  table.  He  saw  here  an  expression  of 
discomfort,  there  traces  of  a  sneer,  and  George  Selwyn, 
whose  prudence  was  always  overridden  by  a  sense  of  the 
absurd,  pinched  Gilly  Williams  visibly  as  that  gentle- 
man sought  to  wipe  away  a  smile  in  the  depths  of  his 
linen  handkerchief. 

"  There  prevails  in  town,"  went  on  Yerington,  "  an 
ugly  habit  of  throwing  upon  women  the  mud  of  evil 
comment.  A  cowardly  trick,  more  cowardly  in  that  it 
lies  within  the  law  and  is  difficult  of  punishment.  Were 
a  woman  an  angel,  some  of  this  filth  must  cling  to  her. 
I  trust  this  habit  is  not  epidemic  at  White's." 

A  few  of  the  men  who  listened  to  him  and  met  his  eyes 
were  conscious  of  a  vague  creep  of  shame. 

Captain  Hugh  Elliot,  his  close  friend,  bronzed  and 
newly  returned  from  his  campaigns,  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  glance  of  pride.  His  Scotch  prudence  often  moved 
him  to  protest  against  his  intimate's  mad  extravagances, 
but  he  had  never  yet  lost  faith  in  him.  It  relieved  him, 
now,  to  realise  that  Yerington  had  not  been  a  traitor  to 
his  friendship  for  Lady  Caroline's  husband. 

Gilly  Williams  spoke  with  the  impulse  to  relieve  the 
atmosphere  which  had  become  surcharged  with  personality. 

"  I  protest,  Yerington,  you  are  seeing  double  and  'tis 
but  the  third  hour  of  the  day.  I  thought  you  had  a  more 
seasoned  head." 

There  was  a  murmur  and  a  movement  of  relief.     All 


12  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

welcomed  this  relaxation  from  the  strain  of  the  last  few 
moments,  and  the  eager  gamblers  longed  to  get  back  to 
their  dice. 

Still  Yerington  watched  them.  It  was  only  when  he 
turned  and  searched  Captain  Elliot's  face,  whose  eyes  met 
his  in  a  flash  of  disarming  comprehension,  that  his  suspi- 
cions took  flight.  His  was  not  a  nature  that  formed  a 
ready  soil  for  them. 

"  'Slife !  "  he  cried,  "  if  I  have  been  seeing  double,  I'm 
glad  enough  to  have  my  vision  cleared.  I've  no  taste 
for  phantoms.  And  now,  if  you  please,  I'll  call  the 
toast." 

He  raised  his  glass. 

"  I  give  you  the  Lady  Caroline  Dashwood.  A  lady  as 
good  as  she  is  beautiful — and  if  any  are  in  mind  to  dis- 
pute this  point,  my  sword  has  a  more  biting  and  convinc- 
ing trick  of  argument  than  has  my  tongue." 

"  My  dear  Yerington,"  drawled  George  Selwyn,  after 
he  had  tossed  off  the  toast,  "  we  are  none  of  us  thirsting 
for  a  taste  of  your  blade,  we  know  its  metal  too  well, 
much  less  in  such  an  argument  as  the  unstained  virtue  of 
the  Lady  Caroline." 

His  face  was  guileless  as  a  child's. 

"  Nay,  what  we  want  is  to  have  you  back  in  the  game 
again,"  said  Gilly  Williams.  '  'Tis  balm  to  see  another 
lose  more  than  oneself.  This  evening's  work  will  keep 
my  French  tailor  whistling  for  his  bill  for  another 
twelvemonth." 

"  Come  in !  Come  in !  "  was  echoed  round  the  table, 
and  roused  by  the  idea  they  beat  upon  it  until  the  golden 
guineas  danced. 

Lord  Yerington  was  hesitating,  for  it  went  against  his 
nature  to  say  no  to  friendly  pressure;  but  he  caught  Hugh 
Elliot's  shrewd  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  question  of  his 
strength  of  purpose,  and  it  moved  him  to  a  compromise. 


HAZARD  13 

"  I  swear,"  persisted  George  Selwyn,  "  without  you, 
Yerington,  it  is  like  a  wake  without  a  corpse." 

"Well,  then  I'll  make  you  a  bargain,"  said  Yerington 
lightly.  "  Here's  my  snuff-box."  He  held  it  up  and 
turned  it  about  that  all  might  view  it.  '  'Tis  a  pretty 
trifle  of  Italian  workmanship.  How  many  will  give  me 
a  hundred  pounds  on  it?  You  may  cast  for  it  amongst 
yourselves,  afterwards.  Gouig,  going,  a  golden  snuff-box 
for  a  hundred  pounds.  Who'll  take  me?  I'll  stake  it 
against  my  heels,  I'm  so  unlucky  with  my  hands." 

It  was  passed  from  guest  to  guest  amidst  a  fire  of  com- 
ments. 

"  I'll  take  you!  I'll  take  you!  "  was  called  as  it  went 
until  it  reached  Walpole.  Once  in  his  hands  it  came  to 
a  pause.  He  examined  it  closely  with  the  absorbed  air  of 
a  connoisseur.  His  eyes  were  eager  as  he  raised  them 
to  look  at  Lord  Yerington,  who  noticed  his  excitement 
with  a  mischievous  twinkle  of  his  own. 

"  Only  a  hundred  pounds  to  take  your  chance  with 
the  others,"  said  Yerington.  "  And  permit  me  still  to 
indulge  in  one  of  those  rare  luxuries,  a  resolve.  Vice 
loves  company  and  those  devotees  of  hazard  yearn  for  my 
companionship." 

"What's  it  against?"  asked  Walpole,  steadying  his 
voice  with  difficulty. 

"  Against  my  chance  of  dancing  down  the  table  and 
touching  no  coin  or  note  with  toe  or  heel,"  answered  Yer- 
ington. 

Captain  Elliot  turned  away  from  him  with  an  impatient 
gesture. 

"  A  mountebank  trick,"  he  cried,  "  I  wonder  at  you." 

"  Egad,  I  wonder  at  myself,"  answered  Yerington, 
airily.  "  Come,  Walpole,  a  hundred  pounds  upon  it  ?  " 

Horace  Walpole  put  the  snuff-box  from  him,  as  if  to 
place  an  interval  betwixt  himself  and  a  temptation. 


14.  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Yerington,"  he  said,  his  slight  frame 
inflating  with  indignation,  "  do  you  know  the  value  of 
this  trifle,  as  you  call  it?  " 

He  asked  the  question,  aware  that  Yerington  stood 
scarcely  second  to  himself  in  the  lore  of  collecting  and 
was  versed  in  all  that  pertained  to  art. 

"  My  grandfather  brought  it  with  him  from  Italy," 
Yerington  answered,  with  a  nonchalant  shrug. 

'  'Tis  invaluable,"  cried  Walpole.  "  The  jewel  in 
itself,  set  in  its  midst,  is  worth  ten  times  a  hundred 
pounds.  The  workmanship  is  Cellini's  own.  'Tis  his- 
toric— you  must  know  it.  This  lid,  so  exquisitely 
wrought,  was  once  Pope  Clement's  button  before  it  was 
made  up  in  this  form.  All  the  world  has  thought  for 
centuries  that  it  was  eclipsed  amongst  the  treasures  of 
the  Vatican." 

"There!"  said  Yerington,  with  an  air  of  innocent 
triumph,  "  there  you  are.  A  treasure  of  the  Vatican, 
obtained,  the  devil  knows  how,  by  my  revered  grandsire! 
A  bargain,  a  most  preposterous  bargain !  You  all  bid  me, 
I  see,  save  Burroughs — Burroughs  the  victor,  who  per- 
sists in  glooming  like  a  vulture  on  a  blighted  palm-tree — 
Elliot,  who  is  tramping  on  my  toes  with  what  I  take  to  be 
a  hint,  and  Walpole,  who  seeks  to  evade  responsibility 
for  the  ill-got  gains  of  my  forebear.  For  who  would 
swear  that  my  revered  grandsire  did  not  carry  it  from 
the  papal  dinner  in  his  boot  ?  Walpole,  I  catch  your  eye. 
I  see  you,  also,  would  be  counted  in.  Am  I  bid,  gentle- 
men? It  is  done.  Down  with  the  money  and  you  may 
cast  for  it  afterwards." 

Eagerly  they  paid  over  their  gold,  and  the  vexed  and 
impatient  Captain  Elliot  was  made  stake-keeper. 

"  Is  it  ready?  "  called  Yerington.  "  Do  but  serve  me 
well,  good  heels,  and  oh,  Master  Punch,  betray  me  not. 


HAZARD  15 

If  I  win,  then  Burroughs  or  I  shall  end  the  evening  richer 
by  this  stake." 

He  sprang  upon  the  table,  his  guests  steadying  it  with 
their  hands.  He  paused  there  an  instant,  a  brilliant 
figure  in  his  yellow  brocade  coat,  white  satin  breeches 
and  silk  stockings.  He  wore  his  own  hair  powdered  and 
curled,  tied  at  the  back  by  a  black  riband,  the  ends  of 
which  were  brought  forward  and  fastened  under  his  chin 
by  a  diamond  of  rare  beauty.  His  waistcoat,  of  gold 
tissue,  was  confined  only  at  the  waist  by  two  buttons 
of  brilliants,  and  then  fell  open  to  display  his  Mechlin 
ruffles. 

He  began  his  dance.  The  feet  within  his  buckled  red- 
heeled  shoes  were  trained  to  fine  balance  in  fencing  and 
in  the  minuet.  The  punch  did  not  play  him  false. 
Steadily  he  danced  down  the  table,  circling  the  piles  of 
gold,  avoiding,  here,  a  guinea  by  a  hair's  breadth,  there, 
a  note  which  his  movements  set  floating.  All  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him  eagerly,  especially  Walpole's,  to  whom  even 
his  one  chance  in  fifteen  was  precious,  and  whose  heart 
was  fixed  in  the  hope  of  possessing  the  snuff-box  lying 
carelessly  beside  Captain  Elliot. 

Lord  Yerington  reached  the  top  of  the  table  and 
jumped  lightly  to  the  floor.  He  had  gained  his  wager. 

The  applause  that  followed  had  little  heart  in  it. 
Each  man  valued  the  bauble  beyond  the  money  he  had 
staked  upon  it.  Lord  Yerington  seated  himself,  shook 
back  his  ruffles  from  his  wrists,  slipped  the  coveted  snuff- 
box into  his  pocket,  and  turned  to  Lord  Burroughs. 

"  I'll  throw  a  main  for  a  hundred  pounds,"  he  said. 

The  dice  had  scarcely  rattled  ten  minutes  when  Lord 
Burroughs  counted  the  gain  of  Yerington's  recent  stake 
amongst  his  winnings. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   WAGER 

How  merry  my  ghost  will  be,  and  shake  its  ears  to  hear 
itself  quoted  as  a  person  of  consummate  prudence. 

— HORACE  WALPOLE. 

CAPTAIN  ELLIOT  looked  at  Lord  Burroughs  keenly,  as  he 
absently  rattled  his  dice-box. 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  you  did  not  play  with  your  dice, 
Yerington.  If  you  had,  'tis  possible  that  your  luck  might 
have  taken  another  turn." 

Lord  Burroughs  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  exclamation 
of  anger.  His  movement  sent  a  handful  of  gold  spinning 
over  the  floor. 

"  Zounds!  man,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  insinuate?  " 

The  company  turned,  all  attention  upon  the  instant. 
They  were  more  moved  by  the  piquant  prospect  of  a 
quarrel  than  they  had  been  by  Yerington's  ill-fortune. 

Captain  Elliot  looked  coolly  back  into  Lord  Burroughs' 
empurpled  face. 

"  'Tis  well  known,"  he  said,  "  that  a  less  thing  changes 
luck  at  times." 

A  quiet  smile  passed  from  lip  to  lip.  The  man  whom 
he  addressed  had  a  record  for  a  short  memory  for  debts, 
and  Mrs.  Chevenix,  it  was  well  known,  passed  many  sets 
of  loaded  dice  over  the  counter  of  her  toyshop. 

"  Luck,  luck,"  muttered  Lord  Burroughs,  "  'Tis  of 
luck  you  prate,  and  still  of  luck." 

"  And  of  what  else  would  you  have  us  ?  "  answere'd 
Hugh  Elliot,  a  volume  of  insinuation  written  upon  his 
face.  "  Perhaps  you  have  yourself  a  phrase  at  hand 
which  would  better  suit  the  occasion." 

16 


THE    WAGER  17 

Baffled,  Lord  Burroughs  resumed  his  seat,  and  as  usual 
Gilly  Williams  played  pacificator. 

"  Yerington  may  solace  himself,"  he  said,  "  for  he's 
a  gallant  loser,  and  there's  many  a  hero  of  a  battle-field 
who  cannot  boast  as  much.  Your  good  fortune  lies  else- 
where, Yerington,  and  rumour  hath  it  you  cause  more 
wives  to  be  imprisoned  in  the  country  and  more  virtuous 
maidens  to  accept  in  desperation  the  first  toothless  wooer 
who  offers,  than  any  man  in  London." 

'  'Tis  a  pity,"  answered  Yerington  indifferently,  who, 
indeed,  had  little  liking  for  the  reputation  it  pleased  his 
friends  to  saddle  upon  him,  "  that  hag  Rumour  hath  not 
a  prettier  invention  that  we  might  be  served  up  some  new 
plums  in  this  pudding  of  her  making." 

"  She  would  if  she  could,  I'll  go  bail,"  said  Gilly 
Williams.  "  And  after  all  there  is  but  the  man  and  the 
maid,  and  three  generations  exhausts  every  turn  in  the 
drama." 

The  moment  had  arrived  for  Lord  Burroughs'  medi- 
tated coup.  He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  the  suppressed 
excitement  within  him  caused  something  like  animation 
to  appear  in  his  heavy  face. 

"  But  there  is  another  side  to  the  drama,"  he  drawled. 
'  'Tis  not  only  the  man  and  the  maid, — there  may  be 
the  man  pitted  against  his  fellow.  Let  us  weave  a  tale  of 
our  own." 

He  was  half  reeling  upon  his  feet,  swinging  from  side 
to  side,  while  his  ruffles  were  here  and  there  stained  with 
the  wine  which  also  disfigured  the  plum-coloured  velvet 
of  his  coat.  He  leaned  forward,  gathering,  as  it  were, 
the  gaze  of  all  those  present  to  himself. 

"  You  call  Lord  Yerington  a  pretty  and  a  gallant  loser. 
He's  a  man  of  his  word."  He  sneered,  brooding  still 
on  Elliot's  observation.  "  He  loses  fairly,  and  he  plays 
fairly." 


18  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"Yes,  yes,"  came  in  hearty  tones  from  the  company, 
moved  to  even  louder  acclamation  by  their  dislike  for 
the  man  who  was  speaking. 

"  Here's  his  health,  then,"  cried  Lord  Burroughs,  lift- 
ing his  glass.  "  I  give  you  my  Lord  Yerington." 

The  toast  was  drunk,  and  drunk  deep,  with  enthusiasm. 
The  drowsing  gentleman  awakened  to  ask  if  it  was  a  fire, 
and  promptly  had  a  bottle  of  port  poured  over  his  shaven 
head,  from  which  he  had  long  since  shed  the  wig. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  continued  Lord  Burroughs, — there 
was  a  hint  of  a  subdued  threat  in  his  manner,  "  I  love  a 
gallant  loser,  on  my  life  I  do — a  man  who  loses,  and  pays, 
and  is  not  afraid  to  risk." 

His  covert  sneer  pricked  Yerington. 

"  'Fore  Gad,"  he  said  with  something  like  annoyance, 
"  is  all  this  for  me  ?  I  lose,  but  as  a  gentleman  must 
lose,  who  gambles  and  fails.  Come,  another  subject,  I 
prithee,  Burroughs." 

There  was  mischief  in  the  air.  The  company  were 
conscious  of  it  and  they  waited  the  next  move  of  the 
game  with  curiosity. 

"  Faith,  Yerington,"  said  Burroughs  slowly,  "  let  me 
prove  your  mettle.  I'll  lay  a  wager  with  you  that  will 
give  scope  to  your  spirit.  You  lose  so  fairly  and  con- 
sistently, so  gallantly,"  he  bowed.  "  You  will  have  no 
appetite  for  a  wager  that  I'll  suggest,  which  will  make 
trial  of  your  courage,  indeed.  What  is  money?  A  mere 
appendage,  an  accessory.  Convenient,  I'll  admit,  but  not 
essential.  I'll  lay  a  wager,  if  you  will,  that  may  prove 
your  gift  of  light-hearted  losing.  Methinks  this  may  be 
a  trial  beyond  your  spirit." 

He  had  mistaken  Yerington,  who  did  not  rise  promptly 
to  his  bait,  not  from  lack  of  spirit  for  ventures  in  the 
dark,  but  because  he  disliked  all  that  appeared  to  savour 
of  the  braggart.  He,  therefore,  answered  indifferently. 


THE   WAGER  19 

He  did  not  refuse  to  consider  Lord  Burroughs'  offer,  for 
in  that  day  it  was  a  point  of  honour  amongst  gentlemen 
to  accept  all  challenges  that  did  not  infringe  upon  their 
code. 

"  What  is  this  mysterious  wager  to  which  you  refer?  I 
can  scarce  entertain  it,  even  if  I  am  in  mind,  until  I 
have  knowledge  of  it." 

It  was  an  age  of  frequent  and  bizarre  wagers.  The 
room  waited  upon  Lord  Burroughs'  reply  with  curiosity. 
When  it  came,  however,  it  was  of  so  unusual  a  character 
that  it  was  followed  by  an  outcry.  He  began  it  deliber- 
ately: 

"  I'll  lay  a  wager  that  within  a  year  you'll  have  for- 
feited your  fortune,  and  your  acres,  to  boot.  If  at  the 
end  of  that  year  you  are  still  possessed  of  your  fortune, 
I'll  pay  to  you  fifty  thousand  pounds." 

A  murmur  ran  round  the  room. 

"  Your  loss,  Burroughs,"  said  George  Selwyn,  "  for 
Yerington  is  a  Croesus,  if  he  is  a  gambler.  Even  Yer- 
ington  and  his  spendthrift  father  made  no  impression  on 
that  fortune." 

Yerington  stood  narrowly  observing  the  man  who  ha'd 
proposed  the  wager.  There  was  such  evident  venom 
underlying  his  manner  that  he  was  curious.  Lord  Bur- 
roughs had  counted  upon  his  dashing  into  the  wager  with 
his  usual  thoughtlessness.  It  was  not  caution  that  gave 
him  pause  now,  but  a  sort  of  wonder  at  the  mood  that  was 
animating  the  man  who  challenged  him. 

"  What's  at  the  other  end  of  this?  "  he  asked.  "  If  I 
am  penniless  and  stripped  of  my  estates  I'd  scarce  be  in 
case  to  make  the  wager  with  you  upon  equal  terms." 

Lord  Burroughs  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  for  his  snuff- 
box. He  took  a  pinch.  He  knew  his  next  words  would 
bring  a  storm  of  protest  about  his  ears  like  a  swarm  of 
angry  bees,  and  he  was  bracing  himself  to  meet  it.  He 


20  A   DISCIPLE    OF.   CHANCE 

was  far  gone  In  his  cups  and  had  screwed  himself  up  to 
a  sort  of  Dutch  courage.  He  inhaled  the  snuff  and 
dusted  his  ruffles. 

"The  stakes  are  these:  if  you  win, — my  fifty  thousand 
pounds.  If  you  lose "  he  paused. 

"And  if  I  lose?"  echoed  Yerington,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  enjoy  himself. 

"  And  if  you  lose  within  the  year,  your  life  is  forfeit." 

The  glasses  were  placed  upon  the  table  with  a  clatter 
and  the  men  started  to  their  feet. 

"  Abominable !  villainous !  "  came  from  every  hand. 

Captain  Elliot's  eyes  were  steely. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  past  Yerington, 
until  his  face  was  within  a  yard  of  Burroughs',  "  that  you 
are  a  damned  coward." 

In  those  days  men  fought  on  far  slighter  provocation, 
and  yet  Lord  Burroughs  chose  to  ignore  him. 

"  Be  quiet,"  said  Yerington,  laying  an  arm  about  his 
friend's  shoulder.  "  He's  not  worth  a  moment  of  anger." 

He  had  no  foreboding  and  his  spirit  was  quieted  for  the 
moment  by  Lord  Burroughs'  stupendous  effrontery. 

"  'Od's  life!  you'll  not  consider  this!"  cried  George 
Selwyn. 

It  was  the  wager  of  a  man  twice  drunk, — drunk  with 
wine  and  the  deadlier  fumes  of  jealousy.  All  present 
knew  that  what  Lord  Burroughs  risked  was  a  good  half 
of  his  fortune,  and  that  he  might  have  picked  a  quarrel 
with  Yerington  and  had  it  out  at  the  point  of  the  sword. 
He  was  a  skilful  duellist,  but  his  was  a  nature  which  al- 
ways chose  the  devious,  rather  than  the  downright  course. 

Yerington  rose  quietly  to  his  feet.  His  very  contempt 
for  the  man  contributed  to  his  resolve. 

"  The  betting-book,"  he  called  to  one  of  the  waiters. 
He  raised  his  hand  to  quiet  the  ringing  protests.  'Tis 
fair  enough,  gentlemen.  I  am  in  no  mind  to  be  beggared, 


THE   WAGER  21 

and  my  friend  here,"  he  bowed,  "has  staked  deeply. 
Faith,  it  may  be  that  he  has  done  me  but  a  favour.  For 
who  of  you  will  swear  that  if  he  found  himself  upon  a 
morning  penniless,  but  he'd  be  glad  for  so  pretty  an 
excuse  for  taking  out  his  passport  to  the  other  side?  " 

The  book  was  laid  upon  the  table. 

Lord  Burroughs'  face  was  livid.  On  a  sudden  a  sickly 
fear  for  his  fortune  came  over  him. 

Before  Yerington  could  write,  Elliot  interfered. 

"  A  man's  a  coward,"  he  cried,  turning  to  him,  "  to 
lend  himself  to  such  an  act  as  this  for  fear  of  ridicule. 
Give  this  drunken  bully  the  laugh,  as  he  deserves." 

Yerington's  gaiety  had  returned. 

"  I  hold  him  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand,"  he  said,  "  and 
after  all,  life  is  all  a  chance." 

And  he  signed  with  a  steady  hand. 

Then  came  Lord  Burroughs'  signature,  harsh,  square- 
lettered,  with  a  deep-drawn,  cruel-looking  line  under- 
neath it. 

"  My  dear  Burroughs,  I'll  pension  you,"  said  Lord 
Yerington  as  he  closed  the  book. 


CHAPTER    IV 

A   PLEASANT   HOUR-SLAYER 

Be  wise  to-day;  'tis  madness  to  defer: 
Next  day  the  fatal   precedent  will   plead; 
Thus  on,  till  wisdom  is  pushed  out  of  life. 

— EDWARD  YOUNG. 

WHEN  the  madness  of  play  is  in  the  air,  memories  are 
brief,  and  five  minutes  after  the  strange  wager  had  been 
registered,  the  gaming  was  as  deep  as  ever. 

Yerington  bet  no  more.  His  high  spirits  were  un- 
abated. Hugh  Elliot  still  played,  venturing  small  sums 
only,  withdrawing  from  the  game  at  intervals,  and  keep- 
ing his  gainings  cautiously  aside.  The  moment  his  gold 
showed  a  deficit,  that  moment  the  sport  was  over  for  him. 
He  had  done  his  share  of  drinking,  though  his  head  bore 
it  steadily.  It  may  be  that  beneath  his  unmoved  exterior 
the  dour  Scot  grew  a  bit  dourer. 

The  tall  old  clock  against  the  wall  pointed  to  the  hour 
of  four.  At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  room  opened 
quietly  and  a  man  appeared  standing  in  the  shadowy 
passage,  the  light  of  the  room  but  half  revealing  him.  He 
was  of  slight  figure  and  the  pallor  of  his  face  was  death- 
like. As  the  scene  within  the  room  was  revealed  to  him, 
though  the  sounds  which  had  greeted  him  should  have 
prepared  him  for  it,  he  paused  as  if  gathering  heart  to 
advance. 

Yerington  first  recognised  him. 

"  Burn  me,  if  it  isn't  Hervey !  Come  in,  you  vagabond. 
What  hours,  my  son,  what  hours!  Give  an  account  of 
yourself,  sirrah ! " 

This  remark  was  followed  by  the  waving  of  dice-boxes 
and  a  dozen  laughing  challenges. 

92 


A    PLEASANT    HOUR-SLAYER  23 

Lord  Hervey  entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 
There  was  a  curious  hush  in  his  manner.  The  light  of 
the  room  now  revealed  him  clearly — his  sunken  features, 
large  eyes  and  close-set  mouth.  A  strange  figure  he  ap- 
peared, elaborately  dressed ;  and  his  pinched  face,  now  that 
the  candlelight  shone  full  upon  it,  showed  a  touch  of 
womanish  rouge  upon  the  cheeks.  Several  exuberant 
gentlemen  sprang  to  meet  him  and  bundled  him  uncere- 
moniously into  the  middle  of  the  room.  At  that  moment 
they  felt  no  respect  for  his  sharp  tongue,  nor  for  the 
dignity  which,  as  if  in  defiance  of  his  slight  physique, 
he  usually  supported  with  special  emphasis. 

"  Faith,"  he  said  at  length,  drawing  his  handkerchief 
across  his  lips  as  if  he  spoke  with  difficulty,  but  his  crisp 
utterance  proved  that  wine  was  not  the  explanation. 
"  What  a  picture  for  Hogarth !  'Tis  a  pity  he  isn't  here. 
Yerington,  you  do  well,  on  my  faith,  you  study  the  mode. 
Gad's  life,  what  would  you  more  ?  The  mode !  " 

"  He  is  in  form  to-night,"  whispered  George  Selwyn. 
"  Pray  heaven,  he  may  continue." 

"  We  treat  the  hours,  Hervey,  as  you  do  yourself,"  said 
Yerington,  "  as  if  they  were  our  enemies,  and  we  slay 
them  as  merrily  as  may  be.  Would  you  have  us  mumble 
them  as  a  friar  does  his  beads,  with  prayers?  That's  to 
be  old  at  twenty." 

Hervey  bowed  with  a  flourish. 

"  Gentlemen,  I  commend  you,  I  commend  you  all. 
Condole  with  me  that  I  have  missed  this  pleasant  hour- 
slaying,  but  for  the  moment  another  matter  held  me.  A 
mere  trifle,  but  it  kept  me  by  the  heel.  Egad,  such  ac- 
cidents occur  at  times.  Had  I  the  making  of  the  world, 
such  affairs  would  not  be  so  damned  intrusive.  They 
spoil  a  man's  stomach." 

He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  tapped  the  box  lightly  and 
returned  it  to  his  waistcoat  pocket. 


24  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"Has  she  been  unkind?"  hiccoughed  Sir  Geoffrey, 
who  had  long  since  bidden  discretion  good-bye. 

It  was  well  known  that  Lord  Hervey's  wife,  the  beau- 
tiful Mary  Lapel,  was  a  lady  of  uncertain  temper. 

"  Now  I  ask,"  went  on  Lord  Hervey,  in  his  cold,  thin 
voice,  unheeding  Sir  Geoffrey,  "  what  two  events  only, — 
I  propound  it  to  you  as  philosophers, — can  one  be  certain 
of  in  this  life?" 

"  La,  'tis  a  conundrum,"  cried  Sir  Geoffrey. 

Lord  Hervey  turned  with  a  contemptuous  smile  to  the 
intoxicated  dandy  and  watched  him  for  an  instant  before 
he  answered. 

"  Tore  heaven,  it  is  a  conundrum." 

"  Oh,  mighty  wizard !  "  cried  Gilly  Williams.  "  Point 
out  your  cave  and  we'll  attend  you  there.  But,  'fore 
George,  my  pocket  aches  like  a  beggar's  stomach.  My 
neighbour  here  hath  my  birthday  clothes,  my  coach  and 
six,  and  Lord  knows  what  else.  Let  us  to  play  again, 
I  beg." 

"  What  is  the  answer  ? "  asked  Lord  Yerington  of 
Hervey,  for  he  read  something  seriously  amiss  in  his 
seeming  irrelevance. 

Lord  Hervey  turned  to  him  and  lifted  up  two  fingers, 
smiling  as  he  did  so. 

"  We  are  sure  of  but  two  things,"  he  said,  "  of  birth 
and  death." 

"  He  croaks,  the  raven  croaks,"  someone  cried. 

"  And  the  joke,"  went  on  Lord  Hervey,  seating  himself 
casually  upon  a  corner  of  the  long  table,  "  the  pith  and 
kernel  of  the  whole  matter  is,  that  unconscious  we  enter 
the  world  and  dead  we  leave  it.  There's  humour  there, 
methinks,"  and  leaning  forward  he  poured  himself  a 
glass  of  punch,  and  tossed  it  off  at  a  draught.  "  That 
life's  only  realit/es  we  should  pass  unknowing  through ! " 

Lord  Yerington  was  serious  as  his  eyes  searched  Her- 


A    PLEASANT   HOUR-SLAYER  25 

vey's  face.  Beneath  this  man's  hardness  and  habitual 
cynicism  he  often  fancied  that  he  caught  the  note  of  real 
feeling.  Occasionally  the  conviction  seized  him  that 
under  his  dandyisms  and  his  rouge  there  dwelt  a  sensitive 
and  not  ungenerous  heart,  which  chose  to  cloak  itself  in 
gibes;  a  very  real  contempt  of  forms,  which  concealed  it- 
self behind  an  over-elaborated  parade  of  them.  Lord 
Yerington  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  His  hand- 
some face  was  grave. 

"  There's  something  behind  this,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice ;  "  what  news  have  you  ?  " 

Lord  Hervey  moistened  his  lips,  for  they  were  dry, 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  A  mere  nothing,"  he  said  slowly,  "  a  bagatelle.  'Tis 
but  that  Mountford " 

At  the  sound  of  this  name  the  men  ceased  their  play 
to  listen,  all  save  the  slumbering  gentleman,  whose  snore 
crossed  the  waiting  silence. 

"  You  know,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  interrupting  himself, 
as  he  turned  his  head  over  his  shoulder  to  smile  down  the 
table,  "  his  gift  for  hour-slaying.  Well,  wise  man  or 
prodigal,  call  him  what  you  will,  he,  too,  has  been  play- 
ing, but  doubtless  he  was  a  blunderer.  All  who  fail  are 
blunderers.  He's  lost  everything  he  possessed  and  some- 
thing more,  I  dare  venture.  And  so  " — he  snapped  his 
fingers — "  he  ended  it !  " 

He  sat  upon  the  table  motionless.  For  an  instant  his 
habitual  mask  of  indifference  dropped  and  his  face,  the 
rouge  mocking  him,  was  bathed  in  tragic  sorrow,  for 
Mountford  had  been  dear  to  him. 

"  Not  dead !  "  cried  Yerington. 

Hervey  roused  himself  with  an  effort  and  reassumed  his 
usual  appearance  of  insouciant  indifference. 

"  He  has  faced,"  he  answered,  "  the  second  of  life's 
realities." 


26  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Again  a  silence  fell  upon  the  room. 

A  young  spark,  unchecked  by  the  pervading  feeling 
which  he  did  not  share,  for  he  had  not  known  Mount- 
ford,  absently  rattled  his  dice-box,  then  stopped,  embar- 
rassed by  his  blunder. 

Lord  Hervey,  amid  the  hush  that  had  not  yet  grown 
to  question,  rose  abruptly  to  his  feet. 

"  Your  pardon,  gentlemen,  I  must  be  off.  I  have  " — 
his  voice  forsook  him  for  an  instant — "  I  have  other  busi- 
ness toward." 

As  suddenly  as  he  had  appeared  he  departed.  The 
purport  of  his  news  hung  heavy  on  the  air. 

Colonel  Gifford,  a  handsome  man,  with  the  scar  of 
an  old  sabre-cut  across  his  forehead,  spoke:  '  'S  blood, 
how  did  Mountford  do  it,  think  you?  Hervey  need  not 
have  acted  so  like  a  speaking  doll  at  a  fair,  trained  to  a 
few  phrases.  Was  it  steel  or  powder,  at  his  head  or 
heart,  or  did  he  bungle  it?  I'm  pricking  with  curiosity." 

"  Two  to  one  it  was  a  pistol,"  cried  Gilly  Williams. 

"  I  take  you,"  answered  George  Selwyn.  "  Make  it 
ponies." 

Sir  Geoffrey  shivered. 

"  Ugh,  it  would  be  such  a  nasty  mess.  Brains  every- 
where. I  swear  a  man  should  be  more  tidy." 

Lord  Burroughs  spoke  for  the  first  time  since  his  wager 
with  Yerington.  He  had  heard  Lord  Hervey's  news, 
unmoved. 

"  Egad,"  he  said,  as  if  the  thought  had  newly  struck 
him,  "  Mountford !  Now  I  can  have  the  finest  cook  in 
England." 

A  few  wore  shocked  faces,  but  they  did  not  abandon 
their  play.  The  steady  cast  of  'dice  and  the  chink  of 
changing  gold  soon  filled  the  room.  In  the  cool  of 
the  morning,  in  the  depression  of  the  next  day's  head- 
ache, many  would  recall  Lord  Mountford,  possibly  to 


A    PLEASANT    HOUR-SLAYER  27 

link  his  name  in  an  anecdote  of  dubious  sobriety;  for  a 
few  days  some  might  even  abandon  the  play. 

Gilly  Williams  was  the  first  to  note  the  heavy  roll  of 
distant  coaches. 

"  The  house  has  risen,"  he  said,  "  an  all-night  sitting. 
Yet  here  you  are,  you  lazy  dog,"  he  turned  to  George 
Selwyn,  "  and  your  constituents  may  kick  their  heels  for 
all  of  you." 

Selwyn  lifted  his  heavy  eyes.  "  Faith,  I  do  it  for  the 
benefit  of  my  soul,  for  absent  men  can  tell  no  lies." 

"  I  have  you  there !  "  exclaimed  Walpole.  "  'Tis  divert- 
ing to  even  hear  of  honesty  from  a  politician." 

"  Do  you  know  the  creature  when  she  crosses  your 
path,  Horry?  I'll  propound  her  to  you.  Truth  is  a 
dame  who  speaks  ill  of  our  neighbours  to  us.  A  liar  is 
that  jade  who  speaks  ill  of  us  to  our  neighbours." 

Time  was  beginning  to  hang  somewhat  heavily  on  Yer- 
ington's  hands.  His  friends,  for  the  most  part,  were  ab- 
sorbed by  play.  Therefore,  when  the  door  was  opened 
to  admit  a  newcomer,  he  rose  to  meet  him  with  even 
more  than  his  usual  impulsive  hospitality. 

A  tall,  dark  man  entered.  He  carried  himself  with  all 
the  exaggerated  mannerisms  of  the  period,  and  his  bow 
and  flourish,  as  he  greeted  the  crowded  room,  were 
triumphs.  He  was  one  to  arrest  attention  wherever  he 
went.  He  possessed  a  curiously  accentuated  individuality. 
His  hair,  which  he  chose  to  wear  curled  and  carefully 
arranged,  but  unpowdered,  was  a  rayless  black;  his  eyes 
brilliant  and  steady  in  their  regard,  as  if  he  consciously 
ruled  their  gaze.  His  eyebrows,  heavy  and  irregular, 
were  also  black.  His  skin  was  a  thick  white,  against 
which  his  lips  shone  surprisingly  red.  The  outlines  of 
his  bold  and  aquiline  face  appeared  abrupt.  It  was  as 
if  he  were  a  masterly  sketch,  which  as  yet  wanted  the 
modifying  touch  of  finish.  He  gave  the  impression  that 


28  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

his  lips  were  too  red,  his  hair  was  too  black,  his  skin  too 
white  and  his  eyes  too  steady.  The  muscles  about  his 
mouth  were  peculiarly  facile.  His  smile  came  with  dis- 
concerting suddenness.  He  seemed  to  anticipate  a  witti- 
cism, so  instant  was  his  appreciation,  and  it  left  the  other 
members  in  a  game  of  persiflage  with  the  annoying  sense 
that  he  had  penetrated  to  the  quick  of  their  wit,  and 
foreseen  their  darts  before  they  sent  them.  The  mobile 
muscles  about  his  mouth  reflected  each  fleeting  emotion, 
like  well-trained  soldiers  under  the  command  of  an  exact- 
ing officer.  As  he  stood  by  the  door  now,  in  a  suit  of 
black  velvet,  laced  with  silver,  and  a  tamboured  waistcoat, 
over  which  flowed  a  cascade  of  Valenciennes  ruffles,  all 
eyes  were  directed  towards  him. 

"  I  vow  and  protest,  Yerington,"  he  began,  "  I've  been 
in  a  twitter  to  be  here  for  the  last  five  hours.  How 
much  of  good  life  is  wasted  in  words!  They  sWam  so 
thick  about  Westminister  that  I  could  see  scarce  a 
gleam  of  poor  torn  reason  in  them  all;  and  then  the 
House  divided,  and,  'pon  honour,  it  was  scarce  a  won- 
der." 

"  La,  Mansur,"  said  Yerington,  "  when  was  serene 
reason  throned  at  Westminster?  There  sits  policy,  self- 
interest,  ambition  or  jealousy.  Faith,  here  you'll  find 
reason  where  there's  frankly  none,  and  none  to  prate  of 
it.  Here,  friends,  is  Mansur,  fair  gorged  with  eloquence 
of  the  old  ladies  who  line  the  benches  of  the  House  of 
Commons." 

"  Your  most  obedient,"  said  Mansur,  with  his  hat  over 
his  heart.  "  I  dare  swear  I've  missed  fair  sport." 

George  Selwyn  looked  up  at  him   gravely. 

"  'Fore  Gad,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  admiration,  "  what 
a  chief  mourner  you'd  make  in  your  silver  and  black! 
I'll  go  bail  they've  murdered  your  bill  and  you're  tricked 
out  for  it.  Requiescat!  " 


A    PLEASANT   HOUR-SLAYER  29 

Mansur's  face  betrayed  no  annoyance.  He  did  not 
appear  to  note  the  grudging  greetings  extended  to  him. 

To  Yerington's  surprise,  Captain  Elliot  had  risen 
abruptly  from  his  chair  and  now  stood  with  his  hand 
upon  its  back,  his  tall  figure  inclined  slightly  forward, 
as  if  he  were  striving  to  peer  upward  into  the  new- 
comer's countenance.  A  flush  had  appeared  on  the  face 
of  this  man  who  usually  drank  himself  white.  When  he 
spoke,  his  Scotch  accent  was  pronounced,  as  it  was  only 
when  some  strong  emotion  or  excitement  possessed  him. 

"  Yerington,"  he  said  slowly,  "  who  is  this  Mr.  Man- 
sur?  If  my  memory  serves  me,  I've  heard  his  name  be- 
fore." 

"  Faith  and  you  have,  Hugh,"  answered  Yerington 
heartily. 

Mr.  Mansur's  manner  was  unembarrassed. 

"  Ah,  Captain  Elliot,"  he  cried  gaily,  "  dost  forget 
Eton  so  early  as  this  ?  " 

The  Captain's  lips  curled  contemptuously. 

"  No,  I  do  not  forget  Eton/'  he  answered  slowly, 
"  but  I  thought  I  had  not  heard  aright." 

"  But  you  do,  Hugh !  "  exclaimed  Yerington,  slapping 
him  on  the  shoulder.  "  And  this  is  Mansur,  '  little  Man- 
sur  of  the  raisin  eyes,'  as  you  used  to  call  him,  you  irrev- 
erent dog." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Elliot,  his  manner  unchanged, 
"  but  prithee  how  comes  Mr.  Mansur  here?  " 

There  was  a  perceptible  movement  about  the  room. 
Mr.  Mansur  had  been  admitted  to  White's  club  reluc- 
tantly, for  it  was  its  boast  that  its  members  were  men  of 
both  family  and  fortune,  but  Lord  Yerington  had  chosen 
to  make  his  election  a  personal  matter  and  had,  so  to 
speak,  borne  him  in  upon  his  shoulders.  Therefore,  to  see 
this  unpopular  intruder  publicly  baited,  was  causing  secret 
elation. 


30  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Mansur  neither  flushed  nor  changed  his  expression. 
He  knew  a  battle  was  before  him.  He  read  a  challenge 
in  Captain  Elliot's  eyes,  and  that  what  caution  he  might 
have  brought  to  the  encounter  earlier  in  the  evening,  had 
long  since  been  drowned  in  punch. 

Yerington  sought  to  forestall  any  unpleasantness. 
Elliot's  manner  was  an  enigma  to  him.  His  own  nature 
soon  shed  the  memory  of  past  clouds. 

"  Come,  Hugh !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  do  you  think  your- 
self Mr.  Garrick  with  your  tragic  mask?  Drink  a 
bumper  to  old  school  days  and  put  yourself  in  spirits. 
I'll  propose  a  toast.  Mr.  Mansur,  M.  P. !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Captain  tauntingly,  "  a  Member  of 
Parliament ! " 

"  And  I'm  told  a  most  moving  speaker,"  said  Yering- 
ton, "  which  may  mean  that  you  empty  the  House, 
Mansur." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Captain  Elliot,  "  and  from  one  of 
your  boroughs,  Harry,  I'll  be  bound." 

Mr.  Mansur  took  out  his  snuff-box. 

"  Faith,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  before  a  magistrate,  charged 
with  the  Lord  knows  what,"  he  drawled.  "  Did  you 
learn  your  manners  on  the  continent,  Mr. — ah! — Cap- 
tain Elliot?" 

Captain  Elliot's  cold  anger  increased. 

"  Neither  my  manners  nor  my  morals  there,  Mr.  Man- 
sur, for  I've  neither  prowled  nor  stolen.  Yerington,  you 
featherbrain,"  he  cried,  turning  to  his  friend  with  sudden 
vehemence,  "  have  you  forgotten  that  boyish  love  affair 
of  yours?  Who  was  it  stole  the  girl's  letters  from  your 
room  and  took  them  to  her  father?  " 

An  instant  of  silence  followed  this  question. 

Then  Yerington  said,  scarcely  conscious  that  he  spoke: 

"  Mansur !     I  had  forgot !  " 

"Yes,"  cried  Captain  Elliot,  "you  have  a  talent  for 


A    PLEASANT    HOUR-SLAYER  31 

forgetting.  But  you  may  remember  that  you  whipped 
this  scoundrel  before  half  the  school  and  ducked  him 
in  the  horse-pond.  Is  he  the  one  to  forget,  think 
you?" 

"  'Twas  but  a  boy's  trick,"  said  Yerington,  in  real  dis- 
tress. "  I  wonder,  Hugh,  that  you  recall  it  now." 

"Recall  it  now,"  retorted  Captain  Elliott;  "you  and 
I  are  not  cut  off  the  same  piece.  My  memory  is  of  a 
different  quality.  Once  a  hound,  always  a  hound,  I  say. 
And  you've  brought  this  sneaking  fellow  here!  " 

Mr.  Mansur's  eyes  flickered.  He  was  no  coward,  and 
Captain  Elliot's  words  were  threatening  to  destroy  the 
carefully  reared  fabric  of  years.  He  felt  no  caution,  nor 
did  what  judgment  his  passion  had  left  him  suggest 
any.  Such  a  scene  as  this  could  only  be  wiped  from 
men's  memories  by  a  later  and  more  vivid  one  in  which 
he  must  not  come  out  second  best. 

"  Hugh,"  protested  Yerington,  "  in  the  name  of  com- 
mon sense  forego  your  anger.  You've  studied  your 
tactics  and  the  Court  Calendar  until  you  are  clean  out 
of  tune  with  life." 

But  Elliot's  antagonism  was  not  to  be  laid.  These 
last  words  had  sent  him  harping  along  a  new  line  of 
thought. 

"  The  Court  Calendar,  forsooth,"  he  echoed,  taking  a 
long  aggravating  stride  towards  the  man  whom  he  ad- 
dressed. "What  says  my  butcher's  son  to  this?"  He 
bowed,  his  hand  upon  his  hilt,  thus  tilting  his  sword-tip 
in  the  air.  "  Does  my  memory  fail  me,  or  was  your 
father, — good,  prosperous,  worthy  man,  who  made  his 
fortune  honestly,  I  have  no  doubt, — was  your  good  father 
a  carver  of  beef  and  a  dresser  of  mutton?  Did  he  serve 
boars'  heads  all  ready  for  roasting  with  a  pippin  in  the 
mouth,  and  hang  lines  of  skewered  entrails  before  his  stall 
for  those  who  chose  economy?  " 


32  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

It  was  a  long  speech  for  the  usually  silent  Captain 
Elliot,  and  it  brought  a  smothered  laugh. 

"  What  an  opportunity  for  a  coat  of  arms !  "  whispered 
Horace  Walpole.  "  A  butcher's  cleaver  rampant  and  a 
calf  couchant !  " 

Mansur's  face  was  livid,  but  he  had  himself  in  perfect 
control.  He  was  being  deliberately  goaded  and  he  could 
have  parried  as  deliberately.  He  chose,  however,  to  at- 
tack and  he  'drew  his  sword. 

"  On  guard,  sir!  "  he  cried. 

In  a  trice  Captain  Elliot's  weapon  was  in  the  air,  and 
their  blades  crossed  with  an  angry  flash  of  fire. 

There  was  an  exclamation  and  a  rush  on  the  part  of  the 
spectators.  Half  the  candles  were  extinguished,  and  they 
fought  in  semi-darkness,  partially  offset  by  the  cold  morn- 
ing light  stealing  in  at  the  windows.  The  space  was 
contracted  and  the  duellists  were  hampered  on  every 
side. 

"  Elliot !  Mansur ! "  exclaimed  Yerington,  in  anger, 
'  'Tis  scurvy  of  you,  upon  my  life  it  is.  Put  up  your 
swords.  Damme,  I  demand  it." 

The  only  answer  was  a  slip  of  Elliot's  feet  In  a  pool  of 
overturned  punch  and  an  onward  rush  of  Mansur,  whose 
attack  the  Captain  skilfully  parried. 

Yerington  was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 

"  I'm  master  here  to-night,"  he  cried.  "  Let  your 
blood  cool  and  have  it  out  to-morrow,  if  you  will." 

Careless  of  consequences,  he  beat  down  their  swords 
and  put  himself  between  them. 

Captain  Elliot  had  no  time  to  check  his  thrust  as  he 
perceived  his  friend's  intention.  His  eyes  had  been  fixed 
upon  his  antagonist,  and  it  was  with  a  sensation  of  actual 
physical  sickness  that  he  felt  his  weapon  encounter  resist- 
ance, and  slide  onward.  He  paused,  too  dazed  for  con- 
nected thought. 


A    PLEASANT    HOUR-SLAYER  33 

"  Harry,"  he  gasped,  his  eyes  staring. 

Taking  the  Captain's  bare  blade  in  his  hands,  Yering- 
ton  withdrew  it,  afterwards  clasping  them  across  his 
breast. 

Mansur  stood,  his  sword  point  lowered,  breathing 
heavily,  beads  of  perspiration  upon  his  forehead. 

Captain  Elliot  was  distraught.  He  took  Yerington  in 
his  arms.  The  others  crowded  round.  Face  appeared 
behind  face,  shutting  out  the  air. 

"  A  surgeon,"  cried  one. 

"  Make  way !  "  exclaimed  another,  "  you  smother  him." 

"  Harry,"  gasped  Elliot,  "  have  I  wounded  thee,  lad  ? 
God  forgive  me,  have  I  hurt  thee  ?  Hasten,  someone,  for 
a  surgeon." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Yerington  faintly,  "  don't  move,  not  one 
of  you.  A  moment,  Hugh?" 

"  Ay,  lad,"  answered  Elliot  tenderly. 

"  You'll  not  cross  swords  upon  this  again,  promise 
me,"  continued  Yerington  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

Even  in  the  midst  of  his  grief  Captain  Elliot  cast  one 
enveloping  look  of  hatred  at  Mansur's  expressionless  wait- 
ing face.  He  swallowed  hard  before  he  answered. 

"  If  it  is  your  will,  I  promise,"  he  said.  "  Yet,  but  for 
him  I'd  not  have  hurt  thee." 

"  You  hear,  friends,  he  promises,"  breathed  Yerington, 
raising  a  feeble  hand. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent. 

Hearing  it,  Yerington's  head  lay  back  against  his 
friend's  shoulder.  He  took  his  deeply  bordered  lace 
handkerchief  and  spread  it  upon  his  chest.  There  it  lay 
sheer,  but  unstained  by  blood. 

"  Faith,  Elliot,"  he  said,  his  eyes  closed,  "  you  have  a 
most  comforting  shoulder.  The  only  wound  I've  minded 
you've  healed  with  your  promise.  My  tailor  will  see  to 
the  other."  And  flicking  off  the  handkerchief  he  showed 


34  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

a  deep  cut  in  his  coat,  where  the  blade  had  slipped  harm- 
lessly past  under  his  arm. 

As  the  trick  dawned  on  the  spectators  there  was  a  round 
of  laughter  and  applause. 

Mansur  slipped  his  sword  into  his  scabbard  with  a 
smile. 

With  an  oath  Captain  Elliot  jerked  himself  away  from 
his  friend.  Yerington  was  prepared  for  this  and  recov- 
ered himself  with  a  lithe  movement,  the  handkerchief  still 
held  in  his  finger-tips. 

"  Come,  Hugh,"  he  said.  "  The  hoax  was  to  save  two 
friends." 

Captain  Elliot's  face  was  black  with  wrath. 

"  God  forgive  you  this,"  he  cried,  "  for  I  will  not." 
And  he  flung  himself  angrily  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   SCARECROW   OF   TEMPLE   BAR 

Where  Sickness  pines,  where  Thirst  and  Hunger  burn, 
And  poor  Misfortune  feels  the   lash  of  vice. 

—JAMES  THOMPSON. 

ALL  the  guests  had  departed  save  Mansur.  The  room 
looked  black  and  gloomy ;  the  table  disarranged ;  here  and 
there  a  chair  upon  its  back ;  the  candles  standing  in  droop- 
ing shrouds  of  wax;  and  all  swimming  in  the  cold,  dis- 
illusioning light  of  early  morning. 

Yerington,  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  disorderly  room 
from  which  even  the  waiters  had  withdrawn,  threw  wide 
his  arms  with  a  prodigious  yawn. 

"  'Ods  life,"  he  cried,  "  I'm  weary  to  death  of  White's. 
This  little  world  of  St.  James's  begins  to  cramp  me.  I 
feel  an  itch  for  an  adventure." 

Mansur  smiled. 

"  Adventure  ever  sits  at  your  right  hand,  methinks,  and 
if  I  do  not  mistake,  it  would  be  safe  to  construe  it  as 
feminine." 

Yerington  was  too  intent  to  heed  the  sneer. 

"  And  now  as  to  this  St.  James's,"  he  continued,  pursu- 
ing his  thought,  "  do  you  know,  Mansur,  I've  never  in 
my  life  strayed  so  far  toward  the  City  as  Fleet  Street  ?  " 

"  Not  even  to  cheapen  a  jewel  at  the  'Change?  "  asked 
Mansur. 

"  No,  not  even  to  eat  a  Guildhall  dinner  and  throw  my 
bones  beneath  the  table  like  an  alderman,"  responded  Yer- 
ington. "  And  to-day,  so  weary  am  I  of  the  tedium  of 
this  little  world  I'm  in  mind  to  seek  a  new  sensation  at 
the  other  side  of  Temple  Bar." 

35 


36  A   DISCIPLE   OF;   CHANCE 

Mansur  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  would  be  like  seeking  to  spice  good  meat  with 
wormwood.  Be  content  with  your  plethora  of  pleasure." 

"  Nay,  I  need  bleeding,"  returned  his  companion. 

"  May  I  suggest  that  the  yellow  brocade "  Mansur 

lifted  his  eyebrows. 

"  Why  not,  prithee?  "  laughed  Yerington.  "  Give  the 
poor  devils  a  little  harmless  pleasure."  He  threw  a 
careless  arm  about  his  friend's  shoulders.  "  Don't  pro- 
test, for  I've  made  a  vow  to  the  god  of  all  vanities  that 
to  Fleet  Street  I  shall  go  this  morning." 

"A  madman  must  have  his  way,"  answered  Mansur 
resignedly. 

He  recalled  the  rutty  roads,  the  running  kennels,  and 
the  mud  far-scattered  by  passing  vehicles  with  an  inward 
sigh  for  his  own  black  velvet  and  silver. 

Yerington  dismissed  his  waiting  coach,  and  started  for 
his  morning  stroll,  as  fresh  apparently  as  if  the  night  had 
been  passed  in  virtuous  slumbers. 

Mansur  tucked  his  chapeau  bras  beneath  his  arm,  and 
accompanied  him  with  what  philosophy  he  could  sum- 
mon. 

"  If  one  must  play  the  fool,"  he  told  himself,  "  'tis 
well  to  play  it  in  the  right  company;  then  if  the  coffee- 
house wits  make  free  with  you,  your  name  is  advan- 
tageously coupled  and  reaps  a  sort  of  glory  in  the  tell- 
ing." 

From  the  chocolate-house  they  walked  towards  White- 
hall. The  air  was  heavy  with  stenches,  the  ground 
under-foot  boggy,  and  there  were  many  pools  upon  which 
the  light  of  the  morning  shimmered. 

From  Whitehall  they  turned  in  the  direction  of  Char- 
ing Cross.  Although  the  day  was  still  so  young,  restless 
London,  which  awakens  by  strata,  was  already  astir. 
Vice  and  misery  that  had  not  slept,  or  early  rising  indus- 


THE    SCARECROW   OF    TEMPLE    BAR    37 

try  now  held  possession.  Occasionally  a  drunkard  reeled 
by,  or  the  voice  of  an  itinerant  vendor  calling  his  wares 
echoed  throught  the  King's  Mews,  which  they  were  now 
approaching. 

Lord  Yerington  sauntered  on,  observing  all  with  a 
humourous  eye  and  occasional  comment,  to  which  at  times, 
despite  his  efforts,  Mr.  Mansur  returned  but  an  absent 
reply.  Where  the  tide  of  early  traffic  flowed  into  the 
Strand,  just  opposite  the  grey  stone  front  of  Northumber- 
land House,  a  gutter  above  him  sputtered  and  discharged 
its  contents.  Some  of  the  far-flying  drops  lo'dged  upon  his 
black  velvet  and  his  faultless  white  silk  stockings. 

"Damme!"  he  exclaimed.  "This  is  a  filthy  adven- 
ture." 

Yerington  turned  in  time  to  see  him  endeavouring  to 
right  his  toilet  with  a  scented  handkerchief. 

"  Ah,  Mansur,"  he  drawled,  "  thank  fortune  for  your 
black  velvet.  I've  a  sample  of  every  sweep  we've  passed 
upon  my  elbow." 

Mr.  Mansur's  facile  muscles  relaxed  into  a  smile. 

"  Methinks,"  he  said,  "  there  would  be  adventures  more 
worth  your  seeking  were  our  bows  not  pointed  towards 
Old  Bailey." 

"  No,"  insisted  Yerington,  "  a  hooded  wench  in  pat- 
tens suits  better  with  my  mood  to-day." 

"  And  are  you  maid-seeking?  "  said  Mansur. 

Something  in  his  tone  sent  Yerington's  quick  eyes  to- 
wards him.  A  flavour  of  last  night's  badinage  still 
lingered  in  his  mind  and  he  was  unusually  ready  of  sus- 
picion. Mr.  Mansur  noted  his  expression,  and  it  but 
served  to  increase  his  own  ill-humour.  The  thought  his 
words  had  suggested  to  his  companion  was  obvious  to 
him,  and  he  watched  its  flitting  across  Lord  Yerington's 
consciousness,  its  shadows  as  it  hovered  for  the  moment,, 
and  then  passed,  with  a  sense  of  irritable  disdain. 


38  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  St.  Clement  Danes, 
threading  their  way  through  the  throng  of  moving  foot- 
passengers.  Now  Temple  Bar  stood  across  their  way. 
It  bore  its  grim  burden  of  heads  from  which,  in  some  in- 
stances, the  hair  still  fluttered,  while  beneath  it  the 
hurrying  crowd  passed  without  so  much  as  an  upward 
glance. 

Not  so  Lord  Yerington. 

"Would  it  pleasure  the  greatest  dandy  of  them  all," 
he  said,  "  to  know  his  teeth  shone  the  brightest  up 
there?" 

Mansur's  glance  followed  his.  He  knew  Yerington 
had  an  inclination  towards  the  Stuarts  and  he  cherished 
some  such  feeling  himself.  He  loved  a  long  line — loved 
it  with  a  sort  of  envious  intensity. 

"  Mansur,"  said  the  earl,  placing  the  handle  of  his  cane 
solemnly  against  his  companion's  waistcoat,  "  above  you, 
you  behold  a  hideous  example.  Those  poor  'devils,  for 
varying  reasons — ambition,  some  of  them;  for  loyalty — 
as  others  conceived  of  it;  a  few  just  to  draw  a  restless 
sword,  I'll  go  bail,  refused  to  let  well  enough  alone. 
Perhaps  a  quarter  of  them  had  convictions — damned,  dis- 
agreeable hurdles  to  keep  your  conscience  ever  on  the 
jump." 

At  this  instant  he  felt  a  light  and  insistent  touch  upon 
his  arm.  He  turned  in  time  to  see  the  top  of  a  much- 
worn  wig  that  had  probably  seen  Monmouth  Street 
many  times,  and  a  hat  held  in  a  hand  spread  wide  in  a 
great  flourish.  When  the  fellow  straightened  himself,  he 
revealed  a  pallid  face,  on  which  starvation  was  writ  large, 
dark  eyes  and  a  mouth  twisted  into  a  humorous  smile 
that  had  somehow  contrived  to  live  past  the  hunger.  His 
tattered  coat,  possessing  a  hanging  shred  of  tinsel  here  and 
there,  had  a  jaunty  set  that  defied  its  rags. 

"  A   thousand   pardons   to   your  lordship,"   he  began, 


THE    SCARECROW    OF    TEMPLE    BAR     39 

"  and  to  you,  sir,"  he  turned  to  Mr.  Mansur,  with  a  sec- 
ond bow ;  "  but  I  mark  your  lordships  deign  some  slight 
interest  in,"  he  cast  his  hand  upward  with  a  supple  wrist- 
movement — "this  fruit  of  Temple  Bar!" 

Mr.  Mansur  withdrew  himself,  but  Lord  Yerington 
lingered,  arrested  by  something  in  the  fellow's  manner 
and  words,  and  his  quest  of  that  morning  included  a  test 
of  each  vagrant  chance  that  might  cross  his  way. 

"  We've  a  goodly  harvest  just  now." 

The  man  gave  Lord  Yerington  a  rapid,  shifty  glance. 
If  his  face  betrayed  the  Jacobite,  he  meant  to  form  his 
phrases  to  that  tune.  As  it  revealed  nothing  but  amuse- 
ment that  might  change  rapidly  to  a  less  approachable 
mood,  he  ended  with  a  shrug. 

"  The  reaper,"  he  went  on,  "  is  the  great  justice  of  the 
noble  Kingdom  of  England."  He  took  off  his  hat  with 
a  wide  sweep.  For  an  instant  a  faint  glow  showed  in  his 
pale  face  and  his  lips  twisted  against  his  will.  Yerington 
watched  him,  vaguely  amused,  and  awaiting  his  next 
move.  From  the  depth  of  his  ragged  waistcoat  he  pro- 
duced a  glass. 

"Will  your  lordship  be  pleased  to  have  a  look?"  he 
said  ingratiatingly.  "  A  penny  a  head  is  my  charge,  with 
twopence  for  Lord  Balmorino.  You'll  confess  he's  worth 
it.  'Tis  a  mere  bagatelle  to  pay  for  seeing  a  man  who 
died  so  bravely, — and  I'll  give  their  histories  with  them 
for  an  extra  twopence,  though  it  may  be  that  your  lord- 
ships' memories  will  not  need  the  tedious  process." 

A  smouldering  sort  of  anger  was  beginning  to  grow 
within  Lord  Yerington  at  the  flippancy  of  this  travesty 
of  humanity. 

"  Bah !  "  he  cried,  "  I  mislike  this.  You  are  little 
better  than  they  yourself  with  your  death's-mask." 

The  fellow  bowed  again,  and  when  he  straightened 
himself  there  was  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eye. 


40  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  I'm  worse,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "  for  I've  a  stomach." 

This  reply  turned  the  edge  of  Yerington's  displeasure. 
His  hand  stole  to  his  pocket,  and  then  he  withdrew  it  with 
a  laugh.  The  man  had  followed  his  gesture  with  eyes  as 
keen  and  eager  as  a  weasel's. 

"  Here,  Mansur,"  he  called,  "  give  me  a  guinea.  I'm 
as  penniless  this  morning  as  this  beggar  himself." 

Mansur  approached  and  handed  him  the  money,  dis- 
taste in  every  movement. 

"  Is  this  the  colour  of  your  adventure,  Yerington  ?  " 
he  said  contemptuously,  indicating  the  tattered  figure 
with  a  lift  of  his  eyebrow. 

The  man  put  out  an  eager  hand  for  the  gold,  and  then 
with  a  sort  of  pride  forced  himself  to  hold  it  for  a  mo- 
ment in  indifferent  fingers  before  he  slipped  it  into  his 
pocket. 

"  I'm  overpaid,  my  lord,"  he  said  with  his  former  affec- 
tation, "  and  you've  not  used  my  glass." 

"  It  was  for  your  bon  mot,  my  man,"  laughed  Yering- 
ton, "  and  none  too  much."  Then  he  added  aside  to 
Mansur,  "  I  must  tell  this  to  Selwyn.  It  will  divert 
him  vastly." 

"Ah,"  said  the  man  airily,  "Mr.  Selwyn,  then,  has 
the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance,  my  lord.  I  have  met 
him  often  beneath  the  scaffold.  We  have  a  great  com- 
munity of  tastes." 

A  gleam  of  keen  enjoyment  danced  in  Yerington's 
eyes. 

"Mansur,"  he  said,  "did  you  mark  that?  Selwyn 
shall  never  hear  the  last  of  this! " 

George  Selwyn's  penchant  for  executions  and  death  in 
all  its  most  harrowing  forms  was  one  of  the  jokes  of  the 
town. 

The  genial  laugh  that  rang  from  the  depths  of  Lord 
Yerington's  chest  revealed  his  nature  more  truly  than  the 


THE    SCARECROW    OF    TEMPLE    BAR     41 

lightly  given  guinea,  and  the  man  was  not  slow  to  note 
and  take  advantage  of  it.  The  humorous  angles  about 
his  mouth  echoed  Lord  Yerington's  merriment.  He  took 
his  snuff-box  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  nonchalantly 
in  his  grimy  fingers. 

"  Would  your  lordship  spare  me  a  few  pinches  of 
your  mixture  ? "  he  asked  impudently.  "  'Tis  a  sad 
thing  to  have  the  weaknesses  of  a  gentleman  annexed  to 
the  fortunes  of " 

He  did  not  complete  his  sentence,  but  preferred  that 
Yerington  should  read  what  he  chose  into  the  gesture  with 
which  he  ended. 

That  nobleman's  white  teeth  answered  him. 

"  Pray  have  a  pinch  of  mine,"  he  said,  offering  the 
snuff-box  of  last  night's  wager  with  an  ironically  elab- 
orate bow. 

Unabashed,  the  rascal  brought  his  heels  together  and 
took  a  liberal  pinch. 

"  Gad !  "  he  ejaculated  in  an  ecstasy,  with  his  eyes 
closed.  '  'Tis  heaven." 

He  still  held  his  snuff-box  wide.  Lord  Yerington 
tilted  the  contents  of  his  own  into  it  and  the  fellow 
closed  its  lid  and  returned  it  to  his  pocket  without  a 
comment. 

"  And  so,"  said  Lord  Yerington,  "  you  know  Mr. 
Selwyn?" 

Again  an  uncontrollable  twist  of  the  man's  lip.  In  an 
instant,  however,  he  was  smiling. 

"  My  history  furnishes  meat  for  Mr.  Selwyn 's  fancy," 
he  answered.  "  We  are  a  family  of  gallows-birds.  One 
day  I,  too,  shall  hang." 

He  said  it  lightly,  his  eyes  upon  Lord  Yerington,  who 
felt  an  involuntary  creep  of  revulsion  that  revealed  itself 
in  his  face.  The  man  noted  it. 

"  My  words  revolt  you,  my  lord,"   he  said  suavely. 


42  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Mayhap.  Yesterday  there  were  four  of  us, — my 

mother,  my  sister,  my  brother  and "  he  bowed, 

"  myself.  To-day,  there  are  three  of  us.  Yesterday  my 
brother  was  hanged." 

Lord  Yerington  remained  looking  down  into  the 
pinched  face  beside  him. 

The  man  continued. 

"  We  are  not  all  evil,  my  lord,  though  we  are  to  be 
reckoned  amongst  the  vermin  that  swarm  the  dark  alleys 
of  this  town.  My  mother  and  sister,  God  knows,  they 
ill  deserve  me,  and  yet  to-day  I'm  all  they  have." 

Again  there  was  the  strange  twist  of  his  mouth,  but  his 
tone  was  unmoved. 

"  Doubtless,  as  your  lordship  passed  these  streets  to-day, 
you  turned  your  head  from  them.  We,  the  vermin,  are 
bred  in  darkness  and  early  acquainted  with  violence  and 
with  vice.  And  of  such  does  England,  in  her  justice, 
form  that  dangling  fringe  in  chains,  upon  the  gibbets, 
through  which  doubtless  your  lordship's  horses  were 
urged  on  your  approach  to  town.  They  cannot  starve 
us  fast  enough,  and  so  they  hang  us,"  continued  the  man, 
his  voice  sinking  to  a  lower  note,  but  his  manner  as 
flippant  as  before,  "  I  am  the  worst  of  us,  and  yet  I've 
fared  the  best.  My  brother  was  of  a  different  metal. 
He  lingered  by  the  mother  and  the  sister.  One  day, 
when  they  all  hungered,  he  forgot,  and  so,  in  the  name  of 
noble  justice,  he  was  hanged.  Faith,  it  is  amusing  when 
you  consider  it,  my  lord!  When  I  think  of  all  that  I 
and  my  fellow-soldiers  have  borne  off  in  pillage — but 
that  was  fair  and  just,  for  it  was  war." 

The  man  suddenly  forgot  his  auditor.  "  God !  "  he 
cried,  "and  I  came  home  to  that!" 

Yerington 's  hand  closed  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I'll  give  you  service,"  he  said.  "  Call  to-day  upon 
my  steward.  I'll  leave  orders  with  him." 


THE    SCARECROW    OF    TEMPLE    BAR     43 

The  fellow  shrunk  together,  as  if  the  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  had  been  laid  there  in  violence.  His  habitual 
instinct  of  distrust  of  the  classes  above  him  revealed  it- 
self in  the  keen  gaze  he  turned  upon  Lord  Yerington's 
face.  For  a  second  doubt  hovered,  followed  by  a  sly 
glance  of  something  not  pleasant  to  see.  An  instant  later 
he  shrank  within  himself  with  a  shudder. 

"  No,"  he  said  below  his  breath,  "  I  will  not — not  with 
the  memory  of  Jack's  face  before  my  eyes.  One  day  I 
should  be  tempted." 

Lord  Yerington  still  watched,  more  amused  than  deeply 
touched.  To  him — so  strong  in  class  distinction — this 
man,  made  up  of  a  strange  motley  of  impulses,  was  but 
a  curiosity  which  it  pleased  him  for  the  moment  to 
wonder  over.  His  impulse  of  charity  died  without  a 
pang. 

The  fellow  whom  he  regarded,  half  shame-faced  at  his 
outburst,  threw  up  a  defiant  head  and  looked  boldly  back. 
The  questioning  surface-gaze  that  met  his,  killed  the 
momentary  gleam  of  good  in  him  and  sent  the  pendulum 
of  evil-thinking  swinging  the  further  in  rebound.  A 
suspicion  dawned  in  his  mind.  Here  might  be  game  be- 
yond the  guinea.  He  settled  the  ragged  ruffles  on  his 
breast  with  an  air  of  swaggering  bravado  and  grinned 
with  a  lift  of  the  eyebrows  full  of  ugly  questioning. 

"  You  walk  early,  my  lords,"  he  said  slily.  "  Such 
gentlemen  as  yourselves  would  scarce  haunt  Fleet  Street 
without  reason." 

"  Devil  take  the  fellow!  "  ejaculated  Lord  Yerington. 
"  Damme,  but  I'll  swear  he  thinks  we  seek  an  easy  Fleet 
Street  bride." 

The  rascal's  face  fell. 

"  Mayhap  your  lordship  has  already  chosen  one,"  he 
suggested. 

"  'S  blood !  not  I ! "  answered  Lord  Yerington. 


44  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

The  man's  manner  grew  eager. 

"  I  know  such  gentry  as  yourselves  are  sometimes  hard 
pressed."  The  memory  of  the  carelessly  bestowed  guinea 
danced  in  his  thought.  A  gentleman  of  empty  pockets 
and  obvious  prodigality.  The  case  told  itself !  "  I  could 
find  you  a  widow  with  a  fat  jointure  and  not  uncomely. 
A  widow  married  by  a  Fleet  parson  might  not  come  so 
ill  as  the  Fleet  Prison." 

He  cast  a  furtive,  searching  glance  at  them. 

Mr.  Mansur  swung  round,  and  sauntered  away.  In 
Lord  Yerington's  face  the  fellow  read  a  solemnity  so 
profound  that  to  his  quick  wits  it  hinted  raillery.  Act- 
ing upon  this  lead,  he  assumed  a  jaunty  air. 

"Ah,  pardon  my  obtuseness,  my  lord,"  he  cried,  with 
a  rakish  smirk.  "  I  see,  'tis  a  matter  of  pure  gallantry. 
Youth !  Youth ! "  he  threw  up  his  eyes.  "  Youth ! 
Youth !  "  he  cast  them  down  again  with  an  air  of  ribald 
insinuation.  "  Then,  mayhap,  'tis  a  maid  you'd  seek, — 
a  pretty,  round-cheeked  maid.  For  such  as  these  the  fee 
is  a  guinea  in  the  Fleet  Prison.  I,"  his  manner  grew 
eager  and  confiding,  "  I  could  find  you  a  parson  outside 
the  Fleet  by  the  Ditch  would  do  it  for  the  half,  and  half 
to  a  poor  starved  vagrant  like  myself." 

Yerington  watched  him,  smiling. 

"  Maids  so  cheaply  bought  are  scarce  worth  seeking," 
he  said. 

"  Not  so,  my  lord,"  the  man  said,  sinking  his  voice  to  a 
whisper ;  "  London  is  vast  and  maids  are  many.  Such 
knots  are  ofttimes  tied  in  the  Fleet  at  the  gentlemen's 
pleasure.  Who  can  swear  that  the  maid  protested  when 
there  were  none  to  hear?  " 

Lord  Yerington's  expression,  which  he  did  not  under- 
stand, urged  him  to  further  inducement. 

"  Remember,"  his  eyes  narrowed,  "  if  she  does  not 
please,  the  parson  has  but  to  tear  the  entry  from  the 


THE    SCARECROW    OF    TEMPLE    BAR     45 

register,  and  there  you  are,  a  bachelor — a  gay  bachelor, 
and  none  the  wiser." 

Yerington  took  one  stride  and  grasped  the  man  by  the 
scruff  of  his  neck. 

"  You  vile,  crawling,  filthy  vermin !  "  he  said,  scarcely 
above  his  breath.  From  side  to  side  he  shook  him  with 
deliberate  violence.  "  Go  to  join  that  gallows-bird,  your 
brother.  The  air  is  foul  with  you." 

With  amazing  agility  the  man  squirmed  from  his  grasp 
— then  stood  carelessly  at  ease  a  few  paces  away,  unmoved 
by  the  wrath  that  still  blazed  in  Lord  Yerington's  face, 
or  by  the  comments  of  the  crowd  which  had  begun  to 
gather.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  slipped  his  hand 
into  his  ragged  pocket  in  a  furtive  search  for  the  guinea 
and  treasured  snuff-box.  Assured  of  their  safety,  he 
turned;  a  slow,  livid  passion  transforming  his  face. 

"  Blame  your  laws,"  he  cried,  his  tone  concentrated, 
"  don't  blame  me.  Blame  your  laws  which  hang  honest 
men  while  such  men  as  you  prosper  and  fatten — vampire 
that  you  are.  A  poor  creature  I  may  be;  but  you! 
What  are  you?  A  pretty  gentleman,  forsooth!  Say 
rather  a  prowling  beast  of  prey;  a  blood-sucker.  By 
what  right  do  you  live,  and  oppress — and  then  but  die 
and  rot  like  the  rest  of  us !  " 

He  spat  toward  the  figure  in  the  yellow  brocade;  then 
abruptly  the  rage  died  from  his  face. 

"Gad!"  he  exclaimed,  affectedly,  "I'll  spoil  my  din- 
ner. Anger  is  a  luxury." 

And,  gathering  himself  together  with  a  foppish  air,  he 
mingled  with  the  crowd,  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  RESCUE 

O  villain,   villain,   smiling,    damned    villain. 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

MANSUR'S  mood  was  rapidly  approaching  exasperation. 
He  was  amazed  that  Yerington  persisted  in  his  whim  now 
that  the  sun  was  higher  in  the  heavens,  and  that  the 
West  End  was  beginning  to  manifest  itself  occasionally  in 
a  sedan-chair  on  its  way  to  the  Exchange.  A  peer  of 
the  realm  might  disport  himself  after  so  whimsical  a 
fashion  if  he  chose,  but  he,  Mansur,  could  not  afford  it. 
The  plainly  dressed  city  crowd,  in  its  brown  and  snuff- 
colour,  intent  upon  its  day's  occupation,  filled  him  with 
irritation  second  only  to  his  annoyance  with  Yerington, 
who  was  acting  like  a  boy  or  a  drunkard,  he  told  himself. 
He  had  already  learnt  that  that  nobleman,  once  launched 
upon  an  idea,  however  trivial,  persisted  in  it  with  the 
determination  worthy  of  a  conviction.  He  drifted  down 
each  branch  road  of  life,  and  treated  it  with  a  seriousness 
becoming  a  highway.  Mansur,  who  set  himself  to  grim 
goals,  toward  which  he  laboured  over  years,  found  this 
quality  in  Lord  Yerington  a  heavy  tax  upon  his  patience, 
even  when  it  furthered  his  own  ends.  He  was  con- 
temptuous of  it,  failing  to  perceive  in  it  the  shadow-side 
of  a  virtue, — a  capacity  for  concentration  which  properly 
directed  might  make  for  devotion  to  a  cause,  a  comrade 
or  a  love.  Lord  Yerington  had  hitherto  felt  no  impulse 
at  the  helm  of  his  life,  save  that  of  his  own  unconsidered 
fancies. 

"  And  what  now  ?  "  asked  Mansur,  as  they  were  once 
more  upon  their  rambles. 


A   RESCUE  47 

Yerington  had  paused  now,  and  was  gazing  meditatively 
up  a  dark  alley  almost  deserted,  above  which  but  a  nar- 
row irregular  line  of  sky  was  visible.  A  dirty  kennel 
guttered  down  its  middle  and  a  gaunt,  uncarved  pump 
stood  in  its  midst. 

"  I'm  in  mind  to  try  this,"  he  said. 

"  You're  in  mind  to  have  a  knife  in  your  ribs,"  re- 
torted Mansur.  "  I've  no  appetite  for  such  neighbour- 
hoods." 

"  I  confess  it  outsmells  my  bergamot,"  said  Yerington, 
taking  a  few  steps  up  the  narrow  way. 

Mansur  followed  him,  after  conquering  an  obstinacy 
so  strong  that  it  warned  him  against  himself. 

Yerington  sauntered  up  the  alley,  glancing  from  side 
to  side  as  he  went.  The  street  seemed  uninhabited. 
Most  of  the  windows  of  the  houses  were  broken  and  the 
panes  stuffed  with  rags.  Only  once,  through  a  half-open 
door,  the  dance  of  a  flame  upon  a  hearth  was  visible. 

"  If  'twere  plague  time,"  he  mused,  "  I'd  swear  we'd 
find  death  rotting  behind  these  casements." 

He  stopped  before  one  house,  about  which  there  still 
lingered  indications  of  former  wealth.  The  balconies 
were  richly  carved,  and  although  the  knocker  of  the 
heavy  door,  which  was  ajar,  had  been  wrenched  away, 
one  flambeau  extinguisher,  dark  with  smoke,  stood  out 
from  the  wall  beside  it. 

Yerington  studied  the  stone  escutcheon  graven  above 
the  portal  with  interest. 

"  'Tis  that  of  the  Ponsonbys,"  he  said.  "  How  the  for- 
tunes of  a  neighbourhood  may  change !  " 

As  he  stood  idly  regarding  the  house,  a  sudden  crash 
of  glass  sounded  above  him,  and  splintered  crystal  frag- 
ments tinkled  at  his  feet.  He  glanced  up  in  time  to  see 
a  hand,  white  and  small,  which  had  been  thrust  through 
the  panes,  withdrawn.  There  was  a  suddenness  in  the 


48  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

movement  that  suggested  violence.  A  scream  came  to 
him,  anguished,  smothered,  but  distinguishable. 

"Help,  for  God's  sake,  help!" 

Yerington's  apathy  vanished,  his  eyes  were  alert. 

Mansur  stood  unmoved. 

"  There's  mischief  afoot,"  said  Yerington  eagerly. 
"  Let  us  within." 

"  Madness !  "  ejaculated  Mansur.  "  Would  you  risk 
your  life  or  perish  in  some  brawl  for  a  '  Have-at-all '?  " 

Yerington  wheeled  round  toward  him. 

"  There  was  real  anguish  in  that  cry.  When  a  woman 
is  in  danger,  I  do  not  stop  to  question  of  her  character 
before  I  offer  help.  Will  you  in  with  me  or  no  ?  " 

He  was  half  across  the  road  as  he  spoke,  his  sword 
in  his  hand. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Mansur  coolly.     "  I'm  no  Bedlamite." 

Yerington  was  now  a  cautious  foot  within  the  house, 
and  he  turned  upon  Mansur,  over  his  shoulder,  a  look 
so  fixed  in  contempt  and  repudiation  that  that  gentle- 
man changed  his  purpose  and  entered  the  house  behind 
him. 

"  That's  better,"  said  Yerington,  a  hint  of  relief  in  his 
whisper.  "  I  could  not  have  believed  it  of  thee,  Phil." 

In  the  street  without,  nobody  had  stirred.  It  may  be 
that  a  cry  such  as  that  which  had  just  rung  through  its 
brooding  shadows  held  no  unfamilar  note. 

Within  the  house  Lord  Yerington  and  Mansur  found 
themselves  in  a  hall  lighted  faintly  from  above  and  per- 
vaded by  that  curious  melancholy  odour  which  hangs  in 
the  air  of  rarely  inhabited  houses.  A  sink-staircase  wound 
up  to  the  next  floor.  An  uglier  position  from  which  to 
resist  a  possible  rush  from  above  could  scarcely  have  been 
devised.  This  fact  Lord  Yerington  recognised  in  a  flash 
as  he  set  his  foot  on  the  first  step. 

The  zest  of  adventure  was  beginning  to  mingle  with 


A   RESCUE  49 

his  impulse  of  protection,  and  he  smothered  a  laugh  in 
his  throat,  as  he  turned  to  Mansur  below  him. 

"  Don't  press  too  close  behind  me,"  he  whispered, 
"  there  is  scarce  room  for  sword-play  in  this  cage,  and  I'll 
get  in  a  swinging  blow,  if  I  can." 

Mansur  came  on  a  few  cautious  paces  to  the  rear.  As 
they  neared  the  top  of  the  staircase,  Lord  Yerington 
paused  and  listened. 

"  I  hear  their  voices,"  he  said.  "  The  devil's  in  this, 
I'll  lay." 

The  light  flooded  down  from  above  and  another  gleam 
came  to  them  from  the  end  of  the  hall  to  which  they  were 
ascending,  and  upon  which  several  doors  opened.  Lord 
Yerington  stole  cautiously  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
turned  the  handle  of  the  door  which,  according  to  his  cal- 
culations, led  into  the  room  from  which  the  scream  had 
come.  Mansur's  head  and  shoulders  only  were  visible 
above  the  stairway  where  he  stood  and  watched. 

With  a  quick,  stealthy  movement  Yerington  pushed 
back  the  door. 

The  room  was  empty. 

A  few  bottles  stood  upon  the  mantelpiece.  A  chair, 
upholstered  in  leather,  one  leg  missing,  was  tipped  crazily 
against  the  wall.  The  shattered  pane  at  the  window  told 
him  that  he  was  in  the  room  he  sought,  and  below 
it,  upon  the  floor,  he  saw  a  few  drops  of  blood.  He  stole 
to  the  door  connecting  this  apartment  with  the  one  behind 
it.  It  was  of  strong  oak,  unpanelled,  with  hinges  of 
wrought  iron  extending  half  across  it.  No  entrance  was 
to  be  obtained  there. 

He  returned  to  the  hall,  feeling  peculiarly  helpless,  and 
the  sound  of  a  girl's  voice  raised  in  violent,  sobbing  protest 
reached  his  ears. 

"  Zounds!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  Phil,  are  we  to  be  baffled?  " 

He  strained  at  the  strong  door  behind  which  he  heard 


50  A   DISCIPLE   OF   CHANCE 

the  voices.  It  scarcely  quivered,  even  when  he  threw  his 
whole  weight  and  added  force  against  it.  But  at  the 
sound  of  his  impact  there  came  an  exclamation  in  a 
woman's  voice,  followed  by  a  waiting  silence. 

"  Open !  "  cried  Yerington,  knocking  sharply  with  the 
hilt  of  his  sword. 

A  feminine  voice  cried  out  suddenly,  then  ceased  with 
a  smothered  quaver,  that  clearly  told  the  story  of  a  hand 
pressed  upon  her  lips. 

That  quaver  moved  Yerington. 

"  Mansur,"  he  said,  "  a  shoulder  here!  " 

"  Let  me  warn  you "  began  Mansur. 

"  A  shoulder,"  interrupted  Yerington  impatiently,  "  or 
no  shoulder — which  is  it  ?  " 

"  You'll  repent  this,"  said  Mansur,  but  he  approached 
and  heaved  with  a  will,  confident  of  the  unyielding  oak 
and  the  probably  doubly-shot  iron  lock. 

Yerington,  unaccustomed  to  situations  that  did  not 
yield  readily  to  his  desires,  for  an  instant  stood  lost  in 
thought.  The  sound  of  that  girl's  smothered  cry  was 
echoing  and  re-echoing  within  him.  Then  his  eyes  wan- 
dered to  a  window  at  the  end  of  the  hall  opening  upon 
roofs.  It  suggested  to  him  a  possible  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty. He  went  down  and  unhasped  it. 

A  moment  later  he  was  out  upon  the  slates,  calling  to 
Mansur  to  follow  him.  That  Mansur  did  not,  he 
scarcely  heeded,  so  intent  was  he  upon  his  purpose.  He 
saw,  with  something  like  dismay,  that  the  sharp  peak  of 
the  roof  was  intercepted  at  the  corner  by  a  stack  of  high 
chimneys,  round  which  he  would  be  obliged  to  climb  be- 
fore he  could  ascertain  whether,  after  all,  this  way  held 
the  key  to  the  difficulty.  He  clung  to  their  smoky,  grimy 
sides,  ascending  partly  by  their  help  and  partly  upon  his 
knees  to  the  peak  of  the  sharply  inclined  roof.  This 
point  of  vantage  gained,  he  rounded  the  obstruction  and 


A   RESCUE  51 

saw,  to  his  relief,  that  the  slates  descended  abruptly  to 
the  verge  of  the  window  into  which  he  was  seeking  access. 
He  crawled  along  the  comb  of  the  roof  until  opposite  it, 
intending  to  profit  by  his  unexpected  flank  movement. 

The  vision  of  himself  in  this  position,  upon  hands  and 
knees,  like  a  cat,  his  silk  stockings  torn,  his  ruffles  soiled 
by  the  closeness  of  his  embrace  of  the  interfering  chimneys, 
took  full  hold  upon  his  imagination.  Helpless,  he  hung 
upon  his  perch,  in  the  throes  of  sudden,  uncontrollable 
laughter.  Neither  his  keen  consciousness  of  the  need  of 
prompt  action,  nor  the  probable  danger  that  awaited  him, 
could  check  this  burst  of  inconvenient  merriment. 

He  swung  himself  into  the  position  from  which  he 
intended  to  make  his  way  downwards.  Probably  his 
movements  were  less  secure  because  of  the  mirth  that 
convulsed  him.  One  red  heel  slipped,  and  in  an  instant 
he  was  sliding  over  the  tiles  in  a  sitting  position,  his  scab- 
bard dragging  behind  him.  He  vainly  attempted  to  check 
himself.  Before  he  had  time  to  reason  out  a  course  of 
conduct,  or  to  concentrate  his  mind  upon  any  move,  save 
the  impulse  to  grasp  with  hands  and  heels  at  the  slates,  he 
had  reached  the  window.  Both  his  heels  rapped  sharply 
against  it.  It  flew  inward,  and  the  Earl  of  Yerington 
made  abrupt  entrance,  feet  first,  into  the  room. 

In  a  flash  he  had  regained  the  perpendicular,  his  sword 
in  hand.  Not  an  instant  too  soon,  for  some  one  within 
hurled  himself  forward,  almost  impaling  himself  upon 
the  point  of  it.  A  turn  of  Yerington's  wrist  snicked  off  a 
waistcoat  button  before  the  fellow  withdrew  beyond  its 
range  and  bared  his  own  weapon. 

The  room  was  dusky,  lighted  only  by  the  window 
through  which  Lord  Yerington  had  entered.  He  had 
scarcely  time  to  observe  anything  before  his  adversary  en- 
gaged him.  He  bethought  himself  of  Mansur  upon  the 
landing  without;  but  the  locks,  as  he  knew,  were  shot, 


52  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

and  he  was  helpless  to  summon  him.  Furthermore,  he 
was  young  and  at  that  moment  his  blood  was  singing 
with  the  lust  of  battle.  He  had  not  made  a  dozen  passes 
before  he  realised  that  he  had  met  a  swordsman  worthy 
of  his  steel.  He  was  hampered  where  he  stood  in  a  corner 
of  the  apartment.  For  the  moment  he  chose  the  offensive, 
seeking  to  attain  a  position  where  there  would  be  room 
for  his  weapon.  The  man  opposed  to  him  yielded  with 
reluctance,  inch  by  inch,  determined  he  should  not  gain 
the  advantage  which  he  sought. 

He  was  a  stalwart  rascal  of  middle  height,  clad  in  a 
brown  frock-coat,  with  high  riding-boots  and  a  bobwig. 
He  did  not  possess  Lord  Yerington's  agility,  nor  had  he 
his  length  of  reach,  but  these  advantages  were  offset  on 
his  side  by  the  elasticity  of  the  constantly  trained  muscles 
that  told  in  every  thrust  of  the  sword;  and  he  possessed 
a  depth  of  chest  and  breathed  with  an  ease  that  revealed 
great  heart-power  and  probable  endurance. 

His  strong,  yellow  teeth  showed  as  he  fought,  one 
eyelid  lowered  almost  to  closing.  Yerington's  apprecia- 
tion went  out  to  this  adversary  with  whom  he  was  fight- 
ing, possibly  to  the  death,  in  pure  admiration  of  his 
swordsmanship,  underlaid,  however,  by  an  unreasoning 
sense  of  invincible  antagonism,  independent  of  the  cause 
and  concentrated  on  the  man.  It  was  a  vigorous,  skilled 
encounter  where  weapons  met  and  flashed,  writhed,  thrust 
and  parried  in  the  grim  silence  of  deadly  earnest.  Lord 
Yerington's  play  betrayed  his  temperament  as  clearly  as 
his  opponent's  did  his.  He  feinted,  played  for  an  opening, 
fighting  often  with  his  sword  point  near  the  floor,  only  to 
flash  it  upward  in  an  instant,  in  a  defence  or  attack,  so 
sudden  and  unexpected  that  it  would  have  bewildered  a 
man  less  skilful  and  bold  than  the  one  who,  with  the  half- 
closed  eyes,  held  his  ground  opposite  him.  They  were  so 
nearly  matched  that  a  doubt  began  to  rise  in  Yerington's 
mind  as  to  the  probable  issue  of  the  fight.  For  an  in- 


A   RESCUE  53 

stant  he  gained  an  advantage.  He  followed  this  up  with 
a  trick  he  had  learned  in  Italy,  and  for  a  moment  his  op- 
ponent was  bewildered  and  gave  a  yard  of  ground  before 
he  recovered.  Lord  Yerington's  blade  wounded  him 
slightly  in  the  forearm.  Hastening  to  follow  up  this 
advantage  with  a  degree  less  caution  than  he  had  hitherto 
employed,  he  became  conscious  that  a  new  element  had 
entered  the  field.  He  felt  the  impact  of  a  soft  body 
against  him,  and  he  realized  that  his  legs  were  pin- 
ioned. 

The  man  with  the  drooping  eyelid  opened  both  his 
organs  of  vision  wide,  and  laughed  triumphantly.  He, 
too,  grew  over-confident. 

Hampered  as  he  was,  Lord  Yerington  leaned  forward 
and  caught  his  antagonist's  sword  and  with  a  supple 
movement  of  his  wrist,  sent  the  weapon  flying  over  his 
head.  Ripping  out  an  oath,  the  man  turned  to  regain  it. 
As  he  did  so,  Lord  Yerington,  with  the  flat  of  his  blade, 
and  without  waiting  to  see  who  the  clinging  creature 
about  his  legs  might  be,  delivered  a  long  swinging  blow 
behind  him.  This  action  was  followed  by  a  howl,  and 
what  appeared  to  be  a  bundle  of  flowered,  wadded  calico 
scrambled  in  a  huddle  into  the  hearth  and  cowered  there, 
whining  in  fear  or  pain.  For  the  moment  Lord  Yering- 
ton was  free. 

"  Mansur !  "  he  called,  taking  a  rapid  step  toward  the 
door. 

He  was  in  no  mind  to  push  this  brawl,  in  which  he 
found  himself,  to  extremes.  He  did  not  know  how  many 
enemies  might  be  about,  nor  had  he  been  able  fully  to 
reconnoitre  the  room  itself. 

Before  he  could  reach  the  door,  however,  the  man  in 
the  brown  frock  was  on  his  feet  again,  and  at  him  with 
a  rush.  Yerington  avoided  his  oncoming  by  a  dexterous 
movement  which  he  had  learned  of  Mr.  B  rough  ton,  the 
then  fashionable  exponent  of  the  art  of  boxing,  an  art 


54  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

popular  among  the  dandies.  Swinging  suddenly  back,  he 
took  his  opponent  in  a  close  embrace,  dropping  his  sword 
as  he  did  so,  and  the  latter's  swung  harmlessly  past  him. 
He  held  the  man,  helpless  as  an  infant,  in  his  skilled 
grip.  He  grinned  down  into  his  face,  for  he  had  con- 
trived to  tip  his  adversary's  head  back  at  an  angle  that 
threatened  to  snap  his  neck. 

"Are  you  satisfied,  my  pretty  fellow?"  he  demanded. 
"  Trust  not  thy  life  to  swords  only  when  next  you  go 
a-squiring." 

He  tightened  his  grip  until  the  breath  went  out  of  the 
man  in  his  arms  with  a  grunt.  For  a  few  seconds  longer 
Lord  Yerington  held  him,  seeking  to  wind  him  further 
before  he  flung  him  from  him. 

He  heard  a  sound  and  turned  sharply.  He  feared  that 
the  huddled  mass  in  the  chimney  was  again  seeking  to 
trick  him,  or  that  an  enemy,  hitherto  unseen,  was  about 
to  cross  his  designs. 

What  he  saw  was  a  young  girl. 

Her  face  was  still  blanched  by  recent  terrors,  and  from 
beneath  her  tumble  of  brown  curls  her  dilated  eyes  ques- 
tioned him. 

"  You  called — a  friend,  I  think,  sir,"  she  said  in  a  voice 
clear  if  tremulous. 

The  charm  of  the  girl's  personality,  the  surprise  he 
felt  at  her  appearance — for  in  the  excitement  of  the  con- 
flict the  cause  of  his  coming  had  escaped  him — and  the 
calm  courage  and  self-poise  of  this  inquiry  amazed  Yer- 
ington into  a  whistle.  This  he  checked  with  his  involun- 
tary courtesy. 

"  Your  most  obedient,"  he  said  gallantly.  "  A  thou- 
sand pardons  if  my  present  occupation  prevents  my  ex- 
tending to  you  a  proper  greeting.  I  could,  I  doubt  not, 
truss  this  fellow  more  securely  if  my  friend  were  here." 

The  man  looked  up  impudently. 


A   RESCUE  55 

"  You  win  this  cast,"  he  said. 

"  Methinks  'tis  well  I  do,"  answered  Yerington, 
throwing  him  to  the  floor.  "  Lie  there,  sirrah !  " 

The  fellow  propped  his  shoulder  against  the  wains- 
cot. 

"  'S  blood,"  he  said,  "  I  must  learn  your  trick.  'Twas 
a  good  one." 

"  It  will  scarce  serve  you  in  Newgate,"  answered  Yer- 
ington, contemptuously.  The  cause  of  his  coming  was 
recurring  to  his  mind  as  the  heat  of  the  fight  began  to 
abate.  "  Where  is  the  woman  whose  voice  I  heard,  you 
gallows'  food  ?  " 

He  was  about  to  turn,  when  the  man  made  a  quick 
gesture  that  warned  him  against  unwary  haste.  The 
fellow  caught  his  threatening  glance  and  settled  back 
once  more  against  the  panelling  with  a  laugh,  his  left 
eyelid  lowered  until  there  was  but  a  crafty  gleam  between 
the  lashes. 

"  Faith,"  he  said,  ignoring  the  question,  "  I'll  lay  a 
wager  I  was  not  born  to  swing." 

A  stealthy  movement  by  the  fireplace  directed  Yering- 
ton's  gaze  that  way. 

The  object  in  the  flowered  calico  morning-gown  had 
crept  out  into  the  grey  light  of  the  room,  and  was  steal- 
ing towards  Yerington,  stark  fear  in  its  fat  repulsive 
visage.  It  was  a  strange  figure  of  a  man,  in  a  worn 
scratch-wig,  with  fluffs  of  cotton  appearing  here  and 
there  through  rents  in  his  wadded  garment — a  cowardly, 
crawling  creature,  whose  puffed  face  told  the  tale  of  dis- 
sipation, and  whose  watery  eyes  faltered  as  Yerington 
turned  to  him. 

"By  the  Lord  Harry,"  said  Yerington,  "a  Fleet 
Street  parson,  I'll  be  bound.  A  perjuring  filth-monger 
in  bands,  a  clerical  magpie  in  black  and  white.  What 
devil's  game  have  you  been  playing,  you  maggot  ?  " 


56  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

The  cringing  rascal  spread  wide  his  dirty  hands. 

Yerington's  reply  was  a  kick  that  doubled  him  up  with 
gurgling  protest. 

"  Come,"  he  demanded,  impatiently,  "  the  woman." 

"  Here  she  is,"  replied  a  quiet  voice  at  his  back. 

He  wheeled  about  with  a  start  to  face  Mr.  Mansur. 

He  had  never  looked  handsomer  than  he  did  at  that 
moment.  Perfectly  groomed,  his  hair  unruffled,  he  formed 
a  striking  contrast  to  the  dishevelled  peer. 

"  I  remained  in  the  hall  awaiting  a  possible  sortie  from 
that  direction,"  he  said  smoothly. 

"  You  did,"  cried  Yerington,  with  a  laugh,  "  a  damned 
good  move  to  be  on  the  nether  side  of  such  sound  oak. 
Mansur,  you  should  have  been  a  lawyer, — an  ink-sling- 
ing, phrase-mongering  lawyer,  with  a  pen  and  no  sword, 
damme " 

Mansur,  facing  him,  lifted  an  eyebrow  that  abjured 
silence  and  checked  Yerington  in  surprise.  The  girl  had 
appeared  but  a  moment  in  a  scene  of  much  excitement 
and  he  had  failed  to  associate  her,  with  her  look  of  calm 
courage,  with  the  screams  which  had  brought  him  to  the 
rescue  of  an  unknown  woman,  and  for  the  moment  she 
had  slipped  his  mind.  Mansur  stepped  to  one  side  with 
an  introductory  wave  of  his  hand  and  Yerington  beheld 
the  motive  cause  of  his  whole  adventure.  The  girl  stood 
before  him  and  in  a  flash  he  realised  that  it  was  she  who 
had  shot  back  the  bolts  and  admitted  Mansur. 

This  coolness  and  resource  rilled  him  with  amazement. 
He  bowed. 

"  Your  servant,  ma'am,"  he  said  gallantly. 

The  girl's  eyes  were  still  dark  from  recent  fears.  She 
was  throbbing  with  a  gratitude  so  deep  that  it  defeated 
her  efforts  to  express  it.  The  breath  caught  in  her 
throat  and  choked  her. 

Yerington  had  risked  his  life  in  defence  of  her,  when 


A   RESCUE  57 

her  need  was  great.  Now  that  he  saw  her,  his  town-bred 
cynicism  returned  to  him.  Rake  he  might  be,  but  hypo- 
crite he  was  not.  Even  as  he  rose  from  his  obeisance,  and 
brought  his  hand  across  his  heart  with  an  air  of  profound 
respect,  his  practised  eye  noted  her  simple  attire,  her  plain 
grey  gown,  her  white  kerchief  laced  across  her  bosom 
with  black  velvet  riband,  her  simple  pinner,  her  Nithes- 
dale  thrown  across  a  chair  near  by;  her  white  stockings 
and  her  black  unbuckled  shoes.  He  realised  she  was  not 
of  his  world,  even  while  the  strange  quality  of  her  beauty 
amazed  him  and  brought  a  light  into  his  face  as  he  looked 
at  her. 

Mansur's  acquaintance  with  her  antedated  his  own  by 
a  few  seconds  only,  yet  so  strong  is  sex  that,  as  he  noticed 
the  play  of  admiration  in  Yerington's  eyes,  his  grew  dark. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands,  "  how  can  I 
ever,  ever  sufficiently  thank  you  ?  " 

As  she  spoke,  another  of  her  charms  was  revealed. 
She  had  a  strange  quality  of  voice,  which,  once  heard, 
lingered  in  the  memory.  It  was  reduced  at  certain  inflec- 
tions to  a  rich  huskiness,  but  it  rose  and  fell  now  on  one 
note  and  now  on  another  like  a  chime,  revealing  a  gamut 
of  emotions. 

Yerington  listened,  noting  its  haunting  inflections 
rather  than  its  words,  at  the  same  moment  throwing  a 
glance  at  Mansur  that  inferred  clearly:  "  A  rare  morn- 
ing's work.  What  say  you  now  to  my  adventure  ?  " 

It  might  be  that  this  girl  had  escaped  one  danger  but 
to  fall  into  another  in  the  rescue  of  these  two  young 
bloods.  Perhaps  the  man  at  the  wainscot  thought  so,  for 
he  laughed  again,  and  at  the  sound  the  girl  shuddered  and 
fled  towards  Yerington,  trembling  and  grasping  his  arm, 
in  the  extremity  of  her  terror. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  I  can  no  more." 

This  appeal  brushed  aside  all  Yerington's  frivolities. 


58  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

He  helped  her  chivalrously  to  a  chair,  into  which  she 
sank  exhausted. 

"  I  would  we  had  wine,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  vexation, 
turning  to  Mansur.  "  The  maid  is  in  need  of  it.  Go 
you,  and  fetch  it." 

Mansur's  eyes  travelled  slowly  from  him  to  the  fright- 
ened girl,  and  from  the  girl  to  him.  Odd,  unexpected 
dimples  trembled  about  his  mouth,  coming  and  going,  as 
if  they  played  a  game  of  hide  and  seek. 

"We  have  still  two  rascals  to  keep  an  eye  upon,"  he 
said ;  "  I'd  best  wait  a  while  longer." 

She  made  a  movement  of  panic. 

"  I  pray  you,  gentlemen,"  she  entreated,  "  don't  leave 
me.  I  shall  soon  have  quite  recovered." 

The  men  stood  watching  her.  They  were  both  under 
the  spell  of  her  beauty.  Her  face  was  so  young,  so  gentle, 
and  yet  so  strong.  It  was  a  type  new  to  Yerington.  He 
noted  it,  lost  in  the  speculations  it  aroused. 

A  sound  in  the  room  caught  his  ear. 

The  parson  had  been  creeping  towards  the  door.  Man- 
sur had  not  moved  to  prevent  him,  nor  had  the  rascal  at 
the  wainscot  spoken.  He  knew,  circumstanced  as  he  was, 
that  no  such  opportunity  for  exit  was  open  to  him.  He 
lay  back  filled  with  silent  laughter  at  the  undignified  ap- 
pearance of  his  recent  ally,  who  had  half  crept  and  half 
rolled  over  the  floor,  seeking  to  avoid  observation. 

"  'Ods  bodikins,  parson,"  he  said  impudently,  as  Yer- 
ington sprang  towards  the  man  and  brought  him  whining 
to  his  feet ;  "  they've  scented  you !  " 

And  he  gave  the  view  halloo. 

Yerington  turned  round  to  him,  amazed  at  his  sheer 
effrontery. 

"  We've  had  enough  of  you,  sirrah,"  he  said.  "  We'll 
have  this  lady's  tale,  and  that,  mayhap,  may  put  you  out 
of  humour  with  mirth,  for  a  time." 


A   RESCUE  59 

The  girl  had  risen  and  was  standing,  her  gaze  roving 
from  the  scoundrel  on  the  floor  to  the  shrinking  parson, 
as  if  their  presence  and  the  memory  of  her  recent  experi- 
ences worked  a  spell  upon  her. 

Mansur  took  upon  himself  the  role  of  interlocutor. 
His  manner  was  full  of  insinuating  deference. 

"  May  we  crave,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  tell  us,  in 
part  at  least,  how  this  came  about  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  peculiarly  alone  and  pitiful,  her  breath 
coming  in  gasps,  and  yet  striving  to  force  her  trembling 
lips  into  submission  to  her  will. 

"  I  beseech  you,  but  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  she  urged. 
Suddenly  she  broke  down,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"  It  has  been  all  my  fault.  I  have  been  wilful  and 
wrong." 

Yerington  affected  to  study  a  picture  pinned  crazily  to 
the  wall.  Mansur  examined  his  nails. 

A  moment  later  the  girl  continued: 

"  I  left  my  home  early." 

"  Alone  ?  "  asked  Mansur. 

There  was  suspicion  in  his  tone.  She  noted  it,  and 
after  that  her  words  came  more  steadily. 

"  Not  alone,"  she  answered ;  "  but  in  such  a  cause  it 
might  be  that  I  would  leave  my  home  alone,  even  in  the 
face  of  good  counsel." 

Yerington's  life  had  been  saturated  in  Court  and  town 
intrigue.  He  watched  the  girl  narrowly  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  was  upon  an  errand  of  mercy,"  she  went  on,  "  and 
it  was  only  on  my  return  that  this  mischance  befell 
me." 

She  cast  a  glance,  as  if  fascinated,  at  the  man  near  the 
wainscot,  who  had  settled  himself  down  in  a  comfortable 
attitude,  prepared  to  enjoy  her  narrative.  The  parson 
was  bowed  forward,  his  hands  before  his  face.  The  Fleet 
Street  prison,  which  he  had  recently  left,  seemed  a  veri- 


60  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

table  Paradise  compared  to  the  prospect  of  Newgate, 
which  now  loomed  large  before  his  horrified  vision. 

The  girl  continued: 

"  I  am  a  stranger  to  London.  It  was  in  a  crowded 
portion  of  the  Strand  I  became,  I  know  not  how,  separated 
from  my  companion." 

"  I  saw  to  that,"  laughed  the  man  at  the  wainscot. 
"  They  should  have  led  thee  in  a  crook,  my  lambkin." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  she  shuddered. 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  "  cried  Lord  Yerington. 

The  rogue  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  smoke-darkened 
ceiling,  as  if  in  derision,  and  the  girl  continued. 

"  I  was  'distraught  with  fear  when  I  found  myself  alone 
in  a  crowded  thoroughfare.  I  knew  not  where  to  turn. 
I  spoke  to  one  woman.  She  had  a  market-basket  on  her 
arm,  and  looked  a  simple,  kindly  creature;  but  when  I 
inquired  my  way  of  her,  she  scowled  and  called  me  such 
names  that  I  fled  away.  How  afraid  I  was!  I  saw  sev- 
eral men,  old  men,  who  I  thought  would  be  kind  to  a  girl 
in  trouble,  but  they  leered  at  me  so  that  I  dared  not  ques- 
tion them." 

Yerington,  despite  his  interest  in  her  tale,  at  these 
words  could  not  resist  a  glance  at  Mansur,  but  that  gen- 
tleman, his  head  bent  forward,  listened  to  her  as  if  he 
were  conscious  of  no  other  presence  in  the  room. 

"At  length,  when  I  was  near  despair,"  she  went  on, 
"  I  saw  this  man.  He  was  dressed  as  you  see  him, 
but  his  face  was  not  the  same.  It  seemed  kind.  He  told 
me  that  he  had  seen  my  need,  and  he  begged  I  would  ac- 
cept his  service.  He  appeared  a  friend  in  all  that  sea  of 
unfriendly  faces.  His  coach  was  near,  he  said,  and  he 
would  straightway  take  me  to  my  aunt.  At  first  I  was 
afraid,  for  it  seemed  to  me  scarce  a  gentleman's  equip- 
age." 


A   RESCUE  61 

"  My  manners  were  better  than  my  coach,  you  see," 
said  the  man  from  the  floor. 

The  girl  continued: 

"  He  told  me  gently,  with  one  hand  upon  the  door  of 
the  coach,  that  he  had  a  sister  just  of  my  years  in  a 
convent  in  France,  and  that  he  would  be  grateful  if  a 
stranger  did  her  such  a  service,  if  she  was  in  my  trouble. 
After  that  I  could  not  doubt  him.  It  seemed  a  curious 
way  that  we  went,  and  when  we  turned  up  this  narrow 
street,  I  became  fearful  and  would  have  sprung  from  the 
carriage,  but  it  was  too  late  then.  He  himself  carried  me 
here.  Then  I  knew  it  had  all  been  planned.  Even  the 
wicked  parson  was  waiting  for  us.  I  was  told  I  was  to 
be  married  and  that  it  was  useless  to  struggle,  for  they 
would  sign  the  marriage  register  whether  I  would  or  no. 
That  would  tell  a  tale,  they  said,  it  would  be  vain  for 
me  to  contradict,  and  against  which  no  denials  of  mine 
would  avail." 

Her  voice  failed  her. 

Both  of  the  listening  gentlemen  read  the  man's  villainy 
to  its  centre.  Such  a  trick  was  all  too  prevalent  in  Fleet 
Street,  where  women  were  wiled  to  have  such  marriages 
forced  upon  them,  and  afterwards  held  over  their  heads 
as  a  threat,  that  the  villains  who  perpetrated  them  might 
use  their  knowledge  as  a  source  of  income.  It  was 
strange,  however,  that  they  should  have  chosen  so  simple 
a  girl  for  such  a  purpose. 

Yerington's  face  was  set  with  anger. 

"  Up,  upon  your  feet !  "  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  the 
rogue.  "  I'm  weary  of  you,  and  I  marvel  at  my  pa- 
tience." 

The  man  rose,  settling  his  disarranged  garments  as  he 
did  so. 

"  At  your  lordship's  service,"  he  said  coolly. 


62  A   DISCIPLE    OF   CHANCE 

"What  Satan's  impulse,"  demanded  Yerington, 
"prompted  you  to  attempt  this  monstrous  wrong  upon 
this  child?" 

The  rascal  regarded  him  keenly,  with  an  expression 
half  whimsical,  half  penetrating. 

"  Such  marriages  stand  in  England,"  he  said  at  length. 
"Blame  your  laws  and  not  me.  As  for  the  girl,  what 
need  had  I  of  her?  She  would  but  have  hampered  me. 
I  had  no  thought  of  her,  save  as  a  means  to  an  end.  It 
might  be  that  her  parents,"  he  winked  towards  her  as  if 
to  share  a  hint  with  her,  which  he  denied  Lord  Yering- 
ton, "  would  pay  high  for  that  entry  in  the  register." 

"Zounds!"  exclaimed  Yerington,  thoroughly  aroused. 
"  Hanging's  too  good  for  this  fellow.  I  would  I  had  the 
quartering  of  him." 

Mansur  had  been  sunk  in  reverie. 

"  England  has  laws,"  he  said  at  length,  "  best  leave  him 
to  them." 

This  speech  suggested  a  new  thought  to  the  girl,  and 
a  new  horror.  .Her  colour,  which  had  been  slowly  re- 
turning, faded.  "  Is  this,"  she  asked,  scarcely  above  a 
whisper,  "a  hanging  crime?" 

"  Happily  it  is,"  answered  Yerington  vindictively. 

"  Oh,  it  is  too  horrible,"  she  exclaimed  in  an  outburst 
of  emotion  she  had  hitherto  controlled.  "  I  have  seen 
them,  hundreds  of  them  in  chains  on  gibbets,  with  the 
crows  circling  about  them,  haunting,  horrible  things,  as 
we  came  to  London.  The  air  was  foul  with  them." 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Prithee,"  said  Yerington,  with  ready  kindness,  "  do 
not  think  of  them." 

"  I  dream  of  them,"  she  persisted,  shuddering. 

The  rascal  saw  his  opportunity  in  this  girl's  horror. 
He  stretched  his  neck  and  felt  it  with  speculative  fingers. 

"  'Fore  George,"  he  said,  "  'tis  a  pity  that  so  fair  a  lady 


A   RESCUE  63 

as  yourself  should  send  such  a  pretty  neck  to  be  wryed 
upon  the  gallows." 

"  I  send  you,"  she  echoed  in  dismay. 

"  Ay,"  he  answered,  "  for  I'll  be  sworn  if  you  spare 
me,  that  these  gentlemen  for  your  sake  would  not  force 
the  issue." 

Yerington  burst  into  a  laugh  at  the  audacity  of  the 
proposal. 

"  I "  she  looked  about  her,  the  dark  shading  of  her 

blue  eyes,  heavily  lashed,  showing  in  the  half  light  and 
adding  power  to  her  appeal ;  "  have  I  your  leave,  gen- 
tlemen, to  spare  this  fellow  if  I  would  ?  " 

They  bowed  a  courteous  consent,  watching  her  with 
curiosity. 

She  drew  slowly  nearer  to  the  man  upon  whom  she 
was  to  pass  judgment,  and  whose  life  hung  upon  her  next 
words.  She  formed  a  sharp  contrast  to  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  waiting  group — Yerington,  the  gay,  careless 
gamester;  Mansur,  the  man  of  relentless  ambitions;  the 
ruffling  rogue  who  waited  upon  her  decision  with  a  forced 
indifference ;  the  cringing  parson,  rank  with  broken  faiths. 

Yerington  stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  his  body 
slightly  inclined  forward,  inferring  all  the  deference  he 
so  often  affected  and  so  seldom  felt.  There  was  a  lurk- 
ing spark  of  amusement  in  his  eyes.  He  considered  him- 
self a  mere  spectator  in  the  scene.  Yet  something  was 
settling  upon  his  consciousness,  infusing  into  it  an  un- 
familiar element  that  subdued  that  amused  twinkle  almost 
to  eclipse.  The  accustomed  lilt  of  the  tune  to  which  he 
had  set  his  dancing  feet  through  life,  returned  to  him  as 
soon  as  the  need  of  action  was  past,  and  the  girl's  extrem- 
ity had  been  relieved.  Life  and  death  themselves  were 
jests,  he  had  always  asserted,  yet,  strangely,  this  girl's 
face  forbade  the  thought  its  full  fling. 

As  ^he  approached  her  former  captor,  the  man's  air  of 


64  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

impudent  confidence  was  dashed.  He  was  taking  a 
gambler's  chance,  playing  his  last  cards  with  habitual 
recklessness,  and  he  was  prepared  to  pay  the  forfeit  if  he 
lost.  All  his  years  he  had  faced  death,  contemptuously, 
at  close  quarters.  When,  however,  his  look  crossed  her 
clear  gaze,  for  an  instant  his  faltered. 

The  words  with  which  the  girl  broke  the  silence  were 
so  strangely  childish  that  Mr.  Mansur  gasped,  and  the 
man  recovered  his  former  assurance. 

"  Oh,  I  fear  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "  that  you  are  a  very 
wicked  man !  " 

The  fellow  whom  she  addressed  made  a  deep  obei- 
sance. 

"  Nobody  has  ever  paid  me  the  compliment  of  doubting 
it,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  but  be  sure,"  she  went  on,  as  if 
thinking  aloud,  "  that,  if  I  gave  you  your  freedom,  you'd 
attempt  no  wrong  to  another  woman." 

"  I'd  make  fifty  such  promises  in  as  many  minutes,"  he 
returned  glibly. 

Beneath  her  childishness  was  a  woman's  spirit,  which 
appeared  in  her  next  words. 

"  I'll  have  no  promises/'  she  said  coldly;  "  I  know  how 
much  they  are  worth  with  such  men  as  you."  She  paused 
for  a  moment.  Then  she  exclaimed  in  distress,  "  No,  I 
cannot  play  the  judge,  I  cannot."  And  she  turned  away. 

Yerington  addressed  the  fellow  in  a  leap  of  sudden, 
unfamiliar  anger.  The  girl's  words  had  moved  him. 

"  You  have  the  lady's  pardon,  and  I  dare  swear  a 
pretty  use  you'll  make  of  it.  Had  I  only  been  left  to  deal 
with  you,  the  day  would  have  ended  after  a  different 
fashion.  Thank  her  and  go." 

The  man  bowed  towards  the  girl,  whose  back  was 
turned  upon  him. 

"  The  world   would   be  gorged   with   rascals,   if  all 


A    RESCUE  65 

judges  were  like  your  ladyship,"  he  said  with  a  broad 
smile.  "  I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  mark  me  down  a  villain, 
a  good  honest  villain." 

He  put  on  his  hat,  settling  it  into  place  with  a  sharp 
tap  upon  the  crown  and  took  two  swaggering  steps  to- 
wards the  door. 

"  My  humble  thanks  to  your  ladyship,"  he  continued. 
"  And  I  pray  you  mark :  I  too  can  keep  faith  after  my 
fashion."  This  he  said  with  a  leer  so  full  of  insinuation 
that  she  turned  towards  him  with  a  start.  "  As  for  you," 
addressing  Lord  Yerington,  "  my  compliments  upon  your 
swordsmanship,  though  you  won  by  a  trick  with  which, 
I  confess,  I  am  not  familiar.  The  other  man  who  could 
have  unarmed  me  does  not  live.  Now,  gentlemen,  if  you 
please,  a  trifle — my  sword." 

Yerington  uttered  a  low  exclamation  at  the  proposal. 

Stooping,  he  picked  up  the  man's  weapon  and  taking 
it  across  his  knee,  broke  it  sharply  twice  and  handed  him 
the  shattered  fragments. 

The  rogue's  face  went  black  with  anger,  his  recent 
danger  entirely  forgotten. 

"  'S  blood,"  he  cried,  sputtering  over  the  words,  "  my 
good  Flanders  blade!  It  has  carved  my  way  so  long, 
curse  you !  " 

"  Put  your  next  to  better  use,"  said  Lord  Yerington. 
"  We  are  letting  a  sad  rascal  out  upon  the  world." 

The  man  fought  back  his  wrath  and  encompassed  them 
all  in  a  swift  glance  that  appeared  to  note  every  detail, 
as  if  he  entered  them  in  a  mental  note-book. 

He  swaggered  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  disap- 
peared. 

The  girl  watched  him  with  dilated  eyes,  and  her  hand 
fluttered  to  her  heart. 

"  Something  tells  me,"  she  gasped,  "  that  my  path  will 
cross  that  man's  again." 


CHAPTER   VII 

MR.    MANSUR   INDULGES   IN   AN   IMPULSE 

Musidorus,  slain  by  an  arrow  that  flew  out  of  a  dimple  in 
Belinda's  left  cheek. 

— THE  SPECTATOR. 

THEY  had  forgotten  the  parson  till  they  saw  him  creep- 
ing towards  the  door,  his  figure  bent  double,  a  very  ball 
of  deprecation.  In  another  moment  he  would  have 
gained  it,  but  Yerington  intercepted  him. 

"Aha,  the  maggot!  "  he  announced. 

The  parson  stood  rubbing  his  hands  and  shuffling  upon 
his  feet.  Then  he  rolled  his  head  towards  the  others  and 
laughed  unctuously,  amidst  his  cowardice,  with  a  cow- 
ard's instinct  to  fawn  where  he  could  not  bully. 

"  He!  he!  "  he  tittered,  "your  lordship's  merry." 

"  Ha!  ha!  "  echoed  Yerington,  with  an  affectation  of 
laughter. 

"  He!  he!  "  fawned  the  parson;  and  for  a  few  seconds 
this  farce  of  mirth  was  continued. 

Then  Yerington  broke  off  with  an  abruptness  that  left 
the  parson  undecided  as  to  his  course,  and  his  face  con- 
vulsed by  such  conflicting  expressions  that  Yerington  al- 
most burst  into  genuine  merriment;  but  his  gorge  rose  at 
the  sight  of  the  man. 

"  You're  the  most  arrant  knave  that  I've  met  this 
morning,  and  you  are  not  the  first  by  many.  Be  off  with 
you  after  that  other  rogue,  your  better,  for  he  affects  no 
virtue,  nor  robes  his  villainies  in  black  and  a  band." 

He  drew  his  sword  and  beat  the  parson  lightly  with 


MANSUR  INDULGES  IN  AN  IMPULSE     67 

the  flat  of  it,  The  cringing  creature  gave  a  cry  of  fear 
that  he  checked  next  moment  in  a  gurgle  of  mock 
laughter. 

"  Your  lordship's  merry,"  he  stammered. 

"  Merry,"  echoed  Yerington,  "  I  never  was  less  merry 
in  my  life.  Back  to  the  ditch,  you  reptile!  I'll  spare 
you  for  the  lady's  sake.  Let  word  of  another  trick  like 
this  come  to  my  ears  and  you'll  pay  dearly  for  it." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  the  man  rushed  past  him, 
wincing  as  he  did  so  in  fear  of  a  blow. 

Yerington,  Mansur  and  the  girl  whom  they  had  just 
rescued  left  the  house  and  passed  down  the  still  silent 
alley  towards  Fleet  Street.  The  sounds  of  its  teeming 
life  floated  up  the  narrow  way  as  they  walked  beneath 
the  over-hanging  houses. 

Lord  Yerington  was  a  conspicuous  figure  at  any  time. 
Mr.  Mansur's  black  and  silver,  though  elegant,  was 
less  noticeable  than,  was  Yerington 's  yellow  brocade. 
The  girl,  wrapped  in  her  Nithesdale,  her  face  partially 
concealed  by  the  hood,  was  still  a  striking  figure.  Her 
walk  had  a  freedom  that  arrested  the  eye.  Such  a  car- 
riage gives  distinction,  even  to  the  shrouded  forms  of 
the  purdahed  women  of  the  Orient.  She  bore  herself 
lightly,  though  her  heart  was  sick  within  her. 

Once  within  Fleet  Street  they  paused,  and  she  spoke 
to  Yerington  with  a  pretty  gesture  of  entreaty. 

"  Prithee,  sir,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  call  me  a  chair 
and  let  me  go  hence.  Thank  you,  I  never  can,  though 
all  my  life  I'll  remember  you  with  gratitude  and  in  my 
prayers." 

Yerington  gazed  down  into  the  upturned  eyes  and 
found  them  singularly  good  to  look  upon.  His  relish 
for  the  end  of  the  affair  of  the  morning  lessened. 

"  Nay,  my  little  maid,"  he  answered  gently,  "  we  must- 
see  you  safe  to  your  home.  It  would  be  ill  courtesy  to 


68 

trust  you  now  alone  in  such  a  neighbourhood,  which  has 
but  lately  attempted  such  a  wrong  against  you." 

She  clasped  and  unclasped  her  hands  as  if  she  found 
herself  trapped  in  a  situation  from  which,  for  the  mo- 
ment, she  saw  no  exit.  A  line  of  doubt  and  perplexity 
appeared  in  her  brow. 

Mansur  peered  past  the  shadow  of  her  hood. 

"  Those  guardians  who  have  so  little  treasured  so  fair 
a  maid  as  to  let  her  come  to  such  a  pass,  had  best  let 
those  who  saw  her  danger,  acquaint  them  with  it." 

His  tone  was  low  and  suave,  but  at  his  words  there 
came  a  touch  of  resentment  into  her  face. 

"  None  are  guilty  but  myself,"  she  answered  with 
spirit,  "  and  I  guilty  but  in  too  little  knowledge  of  this 
wicked  city.  I  trust,  gentlemen,  you  will  not  take  ad- 
vantage of  my  gratitude  to  force  your  services  upon  me." 

Mansur  regarded  her  with  a  trace  of  suspicion,  but  on 
the  instant  Lord  Yerington  bowed. 

"  Your  servant,  ma'am,"  he  said,  his  hat  in  his  hand. 
"  I  await  but  your  orders  if  they  do  not  include  the  com- 
mand that  I  must  leave  you,  before  I  have  seen  you  where 
you  have,  at  least,  a  reasonable  hope  of  safety." 

Her  face  broke  up  in  gratitude  and  self-accusation. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  entreated,  "  what  I  have  said  in 
return  for  your  goodness;  but  indeed  I  am  so  sore  beset 
I  scarce  know  what  I  uttered." 

Yerington's  reply  was  a  grave  smile  that  became  him 
well.  For  the  time  he  had  taken  this  unprotected  girl 
into  his  charge,  and  though  every  winsome  charm  of  hers, 
which  each  passing  moment  revealed  more  clearly, 
tempted  to  gallantry,  he  forbore  to  abate  a  jot  of  his 
brotherly  attitude. 

"  Whither  is  it  your  pleasure  we  shall  take  you  ?  "  he 
asked. 


She  reflected  for  an  instant  before  she  replied  with 
evident  reluctance. 

"  I  fear  it  is  so  distant,  methinks  if  I  found  Soho  from 
there  the  way  would  not  be  difficult." 

"  Soho!  "  echoed  Mansur. 

This  fashionable  quarter  was  not  such  a  one  as  he  had 
expected  her  to  name. 

"  Your  will  is  our  pleasure,"  replied  Lord  Yerington ; 
and  they  turned  their  steps  in  that  direction. 

She  was  not  long  to  remain  in  his  charge.  He  was  con- 
scious, as  he  walked  on  beside  her,  of  increasing  curi- 
osity. 

Mansur,  taking  his  cue  from  him,  did  not  speak, 
though  his  active  mind  was  busy.  A  fact  that  had  es- 
caped Yerington  was  momentarily  impressing  him  more. 
This  girl  had  neither  the  manners  nor  the  accent  of  one 
born  to  the  condition  which  her  simple  attire  appeared  to 
indicate.  To  this  fact  and  the  situation  he  was  mentally 
fitting  theory  after  theory  with  small  satisfaction  to  him- 
self. His  reflections  were  interrupted  when  their  prog- 
ress was  stayed  by  a  crowd  which  had  gathered  across 
the  way. 

It  was  withal  a  good-natured  knot  of  people  that 
seemed  divided  between  a  desire  to  console  and  help 
some  one  at  its  core,  and  to  indulge  in  a  running  fire 
of  cheap  and  coarse  wit,  that  blight  of  most  hastily 
gathered  crowds  of  promiscuous  humanity. 

Yerington  halted,  peering  ahead  of  him  with  a  will- 
ingness to  be  amused,  characteristically  inclined  to  get  a 
fling  of  fun  from  every  chance  situation. 

The  girl,  as  she  stood  between  them,  gave  a  little 
exclamation.  For  an  instant  she  listened,  then  she  spoke 
aloud,  forgetful  of  herself,  throwing  her  voice  ahead  of 
her,  in  an  impulse  of  reassurance  to  some  one  she  could 


70  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

not  see,  who,  was  hidden  behind  the  rampart  of  backs 
and  unsavoury  wigs. 

"  I'm  here,  dear,"  she  called,  "  I'm  quite  safe.  I  pray 
you,  gentlemen,  let  me  pass." 

She  sought  to  press  her  way  between  the  people. 

In  sheer  surprise  they  gave  way.  This  girl's  appear- 
ance in  the  companionship  of  two  young  beaux  caused  a 
pleasant  diversion  and  inferred  a  possible  interpretation 
of  the  affair  that  gave  it  a  turn  to  their  taste.  For  a 
moment  they  stared  with  stupid  curiosity,  then  came  one 
or  two  rude  comments  followed  by  a  laugh. 

She  soon  reached  a  woman,  who  turned  to  her  with 
a  glad  cry.  The  woman  had  been  weeping,  and  her  pale 
blue  eyes  were  pitifully  swollen.  It  was  evident  that  the 
motley  assembly  about  her  had  been  gathered  by  her 
panic-stricken  inquiries  which  at  length  had  ended  in 
helpless  distress  and  collapse.  The  resourcelessness  with 
which  she  had  faced  the  situation  was  accounted  for  by 
one  glance  at  her  kindly,  gentle  face.  It  revealed  her 
to  be  a  woman  of  amiable  nature,  of  a  strong  sense 
of  established  habit,  little  imagination  and  no  initia- 
tive. 

It  was  only  when  these  two  women  met  that  the 
young  bloods  understood  the  great  control  that  the  girl, 
scarcely  more  than  a  child,  had  been  exercising  over  her- 
self. Once  she  felt  the  motherly  protecting  arms  about 
her,  the  emotion  she  had  been  so  bravely  holding  in 
check  overwhelmed  her.  With  clutching  fingers  she 
clung  to  the  other,  and  pressed  her  head  down  upon  her 
shoulder,  as  if  she  could  not  gain  sufficient  comfort 
from  the  reassuring  contact. 

"  Hold  me  tight,  hold  me  tight,"  she  gasped.  "  Don't 
let  me  go." 

"  Oh,  my  baby,  my  baby,"  cried  the  elder  woman. 
"  Has  no  harm  come  to  thee?  " 


MANSUR  INDULGES  IN  AN  IMPULSE     71 

Her  face  now  was  strong,  quiet  and  motherly.  She 
was  oblivious  of  her  recent  panic. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  sobbed  the  girl,  patting  and  clinging  to 
her,  "  these  gentlemen "  She  did  not  finish. 

The  woman  turned  toward  Yerington  and  Mr.  Man- 
sur. 

Then  her  jaw  dropped,  her  eyes  flew  open,  and  she 
stood  frozen,  the  image  of  dismay. 

Seeing  her  embarrassment,  Lord  Yerington  stepped 
forward. 

"  My  good  Mistress  Culpepper,"  he  said  kindly,  "  it  has 
been  our  good  fortune  to  rescue  your " 

The  girl  raised  her  head  and  looked  into  the  elder 
woman's  face. 

"  Niece,"  she  prompted  breathlessly. 

"  Your  niece,"  continued  Lord  Yerington,  "  from  an 
awkward  and  most  unfortunate  position.  She  hath  come 
forth  from  it  with  nothing  worse  than  an  unpleasant 
memory  and  hath  borne  herself  bravely." 

Mrs.  Culpepper  continued  to  gaze  at  him,  her  face 
growing  whiter. 

"  My  lord !  my  lord !  "  was  all  that  she  could  gasp. 

Lord  Yerington   interfered,  with  his  instinctive  tact. 

"  We'd  best  escape  this  crowd,"  he  said.  "  I  see, 
hardby,  the  door  of  a  most  respectable  appearing  tavern. 
Let  us  within." 

The  woman  placed  her  arm  about  the  girl  and  obeyed. 
She  was  still  in  a  state  of  perturbation  at  the  turn  af- 
fairs had  taken  and  yielded  an  unquestioning  obedience. 

Within  the  inn  they  were  greeted  by  a  little  man  in 
a  violent  state  of  irritability,  wearing  a  ginger-coloured 
scratch-wig. 

"  Out  of  here,"  he  commanded,  "  this  is  a  reputable 
house  and  I'll  have  no  young  bloods  and  their  drabs 
here." 


72  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Yerington  was  powerless  to  silence  him. 

"  No,  you  can't  use  your  grand  manners  with  me," 
he  went  on.  "  I  don't  want  such,  nor  any  patched-up 
Fleet  marriage  parties  neither.  I  know  the  tribe  well 
and  I'll  have  none  of  them." 

His  eloquence  was  gradually  subdued  by  a  series  of 
guineas  produced  at  judicious  intervals  by  Mr.  Mansur, 
and  a  sitting-room  was  procured;  upon  which  the  land- 
lord closed  the  door  with  much  muttering  and  many  a 
shake  of  his  scratch-wig. 

Once  within  it,  Mrs.  Culpepper  turned  to  Lord  Yer- 
ington with  a  curtsey.  She  again  looked  wide-eyed  and 
helpless,  caught  in  the  clutch  of  a  situation  to  which  she 
was  inadequate. 

The  girl  pushed  back  her  hood  for  a  clearer  view  of 
Lord  Yerington's  face.  Mansur  was  still  intent  upon  the 
clue  which  now  seemed  near  the  grasping. 

"  'Ods  life,  Mistress  Culpepper,"  said  Yerington,  "  it 
was  good  fortune  which  made  me  play  young  Lochinvar 
to  this  niece  of  yours,  for  of  a  truth  she  was  nigh  to 
wedding." 

"What  does  he  mean,  my  darling?"  queried  Mrs. 
Culpepper,  turning  in  distress  to  the  girl. 

Her  respect  for  his  lordship's  presence  forbade  her 
seating  herself,  but  her  niece  pushed  her  into  a  chair 
with  a  tender  lack  of  ceremony.  Kneeling  before  her, 
she  explained  the  situation  in  a  few  words.  The  nar- 
rative was  pain  to  her,  told  as  it  was  so  soon  after  the 
experience.  But  she  persisted  in  it,  in  that  calm  ignor- 
ing of  personal  stress  that  was  so  much  a  part  of  her. 
The  gentlemen  watched  and  listened,  wondering  at  her 
self-control.  But  Mrs.  Culpepper  was  not  to  be  calmed. 

"  Alack,  alack,"  she  wept,  "  that  you  should  have  been 
in  such  straits.  I  can  never  forgive  myself.  The  villain, 
the  wretch.  And  he  laid  hands  on  thee!  " 


MANSUR  INDULGES  IN  AN  IMPULSE    73 

The  girl's  face  crimsoned. 

"  None  can  harm  us,  save  ourselves,"  she  said  proudly. 
"  And  of  my  own  free  will  I  forgave  him." 

"  You  forgave,"  said  Mrs.  Culpepper,  "  but  what 
will " 

Her  niece  laid  a  firm  retaining  hand  upon  her  wrist 
and  interrupted  her. 

"  No  need  to  ask  what  she  will  say.  None  must  know 
of  this,  save  ourselves." 

She  rose  and  addressed  her  rescuers. 

"  Gentlemen,"  she  began,  "  I  am  much  beholden  to 
you.  A  greater  debt  can  no  woman  owe  any  man."  The 
colour  deepened  in  her  cheeks  and  she  hesitated  for  an 
instant.  "  Will  you  add  to  my  gratitude  its  last  mead  ? 
I  prithee,  say  nought  of  this,  now  nor  never." 

Mansur's  promise  came  glibly  off  his  tongue. 

Yerington's  only  reply  was  a  bow. 

Soon  afterwards  they  placed  Mrs.  Culpepper  and  her 
niece  in  a  hackney-coach,  and  stood,  side  by  side,  be- 
hind the  posts  bowing  to  them  with  their  best  flourishes. 
Mrs.  Culpepper  shrank  back,  embarrassed  to  pain  by  the 
novelty  of  her  position.  To  be  handed,  even  into  the 
humble  vehicle  with  its  carpet  of  dirty  straw,  by  the  Earl 
of  Yerington,  overcame  her. 

Her  niece  took  her  place  beside  her.  Before  the  hack- 
ney-coach moved  off,  she  leaned  forward,  her  sweet  face 
framed  by  the  crimson  hood. 

"  Believe  me,  gentlemen,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  though 
I  have  enjoined  you  to  silence,  my  heart  will  not  be 
silent.  It  will  thank  you  always." 

She  extended  her  hand  with  a  gracious  little  gesture, 
and  first  Lord  Yerington  and  then  Mr.  Mansur  pressed 
their  lips  upon  it. 

She  had  coupled  them  in  her  thanks,  but  as  she  drew 
up  the  tin  shutter,  pierced  with  holes,  that  served  as  a 


74.  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

window  in  the  hackney-coach,  she  looked  last  at  Yer- 
ington. 

As  the  vehicle  went  lurching  off  over  the  rutty  street, 
the  two  gentlemen  stood  watching  it.  They  were  ig- 
norant of  its  destination,  and  had  given  a  pledge  not  to 
query  further  about  it. 

Yerington  was  absently  smiling  to  himself,  and  at  the 
moment  was  conscious  only  that  his  blood  flowed  a  little 
faster  at  the  memory  of  the  girl's  face  on  which  his 
thoughts  dwelt  pleasantly,  and  that  it  was  a  whimsical 
turn  of  fate  that  made  him  the  rescuer  of  the  niece  of 
Mrs.  Culpepper,  innkeeper  of  the  Royal  Arms  at  his 
own  village  of  Oxholme.  Possibly  that  consideration 
conduced  to  his  seeing  the  ugly  black  hulk  of  the  hack- 
ney-coach lose  itself  in  the  crowding  vehicles  in  the 
Strand  with  less  sense  of  finality  and  regret.  He  stood 
watching  it  idly,  until  his  attention  was  arrested  by  an 
oddly  familiar  form  in  black  velvet  laced  with  silver, 
which  he  suddenly  saw  dodging  recklessly  amid  the  traffic 
of  the  thoroughfare. 

"  Mansur,"  he  called,  in  amazement. 

But  for  once  in  his  life  Mr.  Mansur  was  indulging 
in  the  luxury  of  an  impulse. 

As  he  disappeared,  Lord  Yerington  laughed  and  then 
he  frowned.  "  Love  hath  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder," 
he  thought  to  himself.  "Niece  of  Mistress  Culpepper! 
You'd  best  have  an  eye  out,  Mistress  Culpepper." 

More  than  once,  as  Lord  Yerington  continued  his  walk, 
he  shook  his  head.  He  remembered  Mr.  Mansur's  pledge 
to  the  girl,  and  he  was  not  satisfied. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE    PHILOSOPHY  OF  PATCHES 

Bring,  O  bring  my  essence-pot 
Amber,  musk  and  bergamot. 

— BATH  GUIDE. 

LORD  YERINGTON  stood  in  the  great  hall  of  Grangely 
House.  Neither  to  his  damaged  dress,  nor  to  the  hour  of 
his  return,  did  he  give  a  second  thought,  and  his  lackeys 
bore  themselves  with  admirable  gravity.  They  felt  a 
certain  reflected  distinction  in  the  finished  oblivion  of 
their  master's  manner  and,  below  stairs,  they  swore  among 
themselves  that  no  other  young  blood  in  the  realm  could 
have  compassed  it. 

His  majordomo  stood  before  him,  with  his  wand  of 
office,  where  Yerington  lingered  for  an  instant. 

Mr.  Walpole  had  called,  and  they  had  sent  over  his 
letters  from  White's.  The  anteroom  was  full;  two 
jewellers,  a  draper,  a  man  from  France  with  the  velvets, 
a  bootmaker,  and  once  more  the  foreign  gentleman  about 
the  Pieter  de  Hoogh,  which  he  declared  was  rare  and 
genuine,  and  would  his  lordship  deign  to  look  it  over? 

Lord  Yerington  yawned. 

"  Faith,  and  if  they  were  creditors  they  could  not  wait 
more  patiently.  Pray  send  them  away.  The  Pieter  de 
Hoogh  man  may  call  to-morrow,  and  if  I  have  risen  I 
will  speak  with  him." 

Mr.  Jenkins,  his  valet,  greeted  his  appearance  with  an 
obsequious  bow. 

He  was  a  small  man,  wearing  a  formal  bag-wig  neatly 
tied,  speckless  brown  frock  and  square-toed,  silver-buckled 
shoes.  His  expressive  hands  were  seldom  motionless. 

75 


76  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

They  were  uplifted,  helping,  deprecating,  running  through 
an  endless  variety  of  gestures,  possessed  of  an  eloquence 
all  their  own.  His  eyebrows  were  black,  pointed,  half- 
way up  his  forehead,  and  they  delicately  echoed  every 
emotion  that  so  well-trained  a  servant  would  permit  him- 
self. 

Half  asleep,  Yerington  suffered  Jenkins  to  disrobe 
him. 

"Your  lordship  will  rest?"  suggested  his  gentleman. 

"  Faith,  not  I,"  answered  Yerington,  "  leave  that  to 
the  grave,  Jenkins.  My  bath,  and  my  silver  grey  frock, 
and  the  devil  take  me  if  I  don't  make  two  days  out  of 
one,  and  the  almanac,  lying  old  woman,  be  damned !  " 

An  hour  later,  his  face  white  with  soap-suds,  he  sat 
patiently  while,  stroke  by  stroke,  Mr.  Jenkins  removed 
the  lather  with  his  discriminating  razor. 

"  Egad,"  said  Yerington,  from  one  side  of  his  mouth, 
"  if  ever  I  repent  my  sins  I'll  first  dismiss  you.  Exit 
Jenkins,  and  enter  ashes  and  a  hair  shirt.  To  be  shaved 
by  you  is  a  luxury." 

Jenkins'  hands  hinted  deprecation. 

"  Your  lordship  is  pleased  to  flatter,"  he  said. 

"Flatter!     Not  I,"  answered  Yerington. 

Mr.  Jenkins  delicately  powdered  his  master's  face  and 
considered. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  contemplating  him  with  an  air 
of  pride,  as  if  he  were  a  creature  of  his  creating,  "  what 
patches  ?  " 

"  Burn  me,  if  I  know,"  yawned  Yerington.  "  Jen- 
kins, my  man,  you're  going  off.  Would  you  have  me 
lend  my  mind  to  patches?  " 

"  No,  your  lordship,"  answered  Jenkins  soothingly. 
"  That  is  my  affair ;  and  yet  there's  a  world  of  elo- 
quence in  patches." 

He  opened  a  gold  patch-box. 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF    PATCHES      77 

"  Here,   for  example,  is  one  for  a  Parliamentarian." 

Accustomed  to  the  little  man's  vagaries  and  enjoying 
them,  Yerington  rolled  a  speculative  eye  at  it. 

"  Too  fine  for  me,  Jenkins,"  he  said.  "  You  over- 
shoot me." 

"  A  round  one,  your  lordship,"  exclaimed  the  valet 
triumphantly.  "  A  solid,  serious  round  one,  to  be  placed 
near  the  eye,  to  give  it  force  and  eloquence." 

"  Gad,  or  by  the  mouth  to  hint  a  full  stop,"  added 
Yerington.  "And  now  for  a  soldier?" 

"  There's  little  finesse  in  that,"  mused  Jenkins.  "  A 
grenade  or  a  cannon  placed  squarely  on  the  jaw.  And 
now,  my  lord,  pardon  a  liberty,  but  what  would  you 
suggest  for  a  lover  ?  " 

The  mirror  was  facing  Yerington.  In  it  he  cast  a 
shrewd  look  at  the  little  man,  but  he  perceived  that  his 
face  was  as  innocent  as  an  untroubled  pool.  His  words, 
however,  had  drawn  the  fingers  of  memory  sharply  across 
the  strings  which  had  been  struck  so  discordantly  and 
often  at  White's  the  night  before.  He  frowned  as  he 
thought  of  the  Lady  Caroline  Dashwood. 

Jenkins  continued  meditating,  with  his  head  on  one 
side. 

"  As  to  the  lover,  instruct  me,"  answered  his  lord- 
ship, after  he  had  reflected  a  moment. 

'  'Tis  a  matter  of  much  delicacy,"  answered  Jenkins, 
and  as  he  continued  to  speak  he  tallied  on  his  fingers. 
"  First,  there  is  the  ardent  lover ;  then  there  is  the  lan- 
guid lover;  and  then  there  is  just  the  little  affair  of 
gallantry,  which  leaves  the  coming  on  and  the  going  off 
in  the  hands  of  circumstance.  For  the  ardent  lover, — 
hearts,  Cupid's  bows  and  love-knots;  for  the  languid 
lover, — a  torch  reversed,  would  not  be  out  of  place." 
There  was  an  eloquent  pause.  Jenkins  was  enjoying  his 
own  conceits. 


78  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  And  now  for  the  little  affair  of  gallantry  ?  "  queried 
his  master,  with  some  curiosity. 

"  That  requires  nice  management,  my  lord.  What 
say  you  to  a  chaise  and  pair?  It  might  mean  a  retreat, 
an  advance,  or  an  elopement.  There's  safety  in  a  chaise." 

"  No  chaises,"  said  Yerington.  "  A  parliamentary  full 
stop,  I  prithee." 


CHAPTER    IX 

LADY   CAROLINE    UNMASKS 

As  in  friendship,  so  in  love,  we  are  often  happier  from 
ignorance  than  knowledge. 

— LA  ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

LADY  CAROLINE  sat  in  her  dressing-room  under  the 
hands  of  her  tire-woman,  Dorcas.  The  latter's  skilled 
fingers  were  arranging  puffs  and  curls  with  fine  effect 
above  her  white  forehead  and  arched  eyebrows,  but  Lady 
Caroline's  tawny  eyes  smiled  no  approval.  She  stared 
at  herself  in  the  mirror  and  no  flaw  escaped  her,  though 
her  thoughts  were  busily  employed.  A  letter  from  her 
lord  and  master  lay  carelessly  upon  the  dressing-table 
amid  a  collection  of  pomade  and  salve  boxes,  white  lead, 
carnation  and  a  litter  of  curl-papers. 

This  letter  was  in  reality  an  inexorable  guide-post 
that  told  Lady  Caroline  she  had  come  to  a  parting  of  the 
ways — in  short,  that  she  must  now  play  with  her  cards 
upon  the  table. 

She  had  refused  herself  that  morning  to  all  the  gen- 
tlemen who  often  drank  their  chocolate  with  her  during 
her  toilet.  She  was  persuaded  that  Lord  Yerington 
would  call  and  she  intended  to  see  him  alone.  When, 
however,  her  black  boy  announced  him  to  her,  she  did 
not  change  countenance,  though  some  instinct  warned  her 
that  this  interview  would  be  prolific  of  results.  With 
her  nerves  upon  the  rack  she  had  begun  to  long  for  some 
change,  even  a  disastrous  one,  anything  but  this  un- 
wavering demeanour  that  maddened  her. 

As  Lord  Yerington  entered  the  room  she  did  not  turn 
79 


80  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

round,  but  looked  at  him  in  the  mirror.  She  extended 
him  her  hand,  over  which  he  bent  his  head. 

"  Your  ladyship's  most  humble  and  obedient  servant," 
he  murmured.  "  I'll  swear  this  morning  Venus  herself 
would  cry  you  mercy." 

Her  reply  was  a  nod  to  Dorcas,  who  vanished. 

Alone  at  the  dressing-table  she  tended  an  already 
perfected  eyebrow  with  an  ivory  comb. 

"  I  protest,  Yerington,"  she  drawled,  languidly,  "  I'm 
shocked  to  death.  What  is  this  I  hear  of  your  losing 
twelve  thousand  pounds  at  White's  last  night?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  beg  your  ladyship's  approval  of  my  moderation. 
Think  how  easily  it  might  have  been  twenty  thousand." 

She  was  contemplating  her  profile  in  the  glass,  by  the 
assistance  of  her  hand-mirror,  hoping  at  the  same  time 
that  he  might  note  its  proportion.  She  shook  her  head 
at  him  reproachfully. 

"  I  fear  you're  a  sad  rake,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  have  no  taste  for  solitude,"  he  answered. 

"  You  see  my  room  is  empty,"  she  went  on.  "  I  de- 
nied myself  even  to  that  fascinating  young  spark,  Captain 
Darlington,  and  to  all  the  others,  that  I  might  have  a 
quiet  half-hour  to  tell  you  how  horror-struck  I  was. 
Dorcas  brought  me  the  news  with  my  chocolate." 

Yerington  glanced  about  the  room  at  the  empty  chairs. 

"  Your  ladyship  is  too  kind,"  he  said,  bowing  with 
his  hat  crushed  between  his  hands.  "  Faith,  I  believe 
from  your  lips  I  could  take  reproof  before  half  of 
White's,  for  they  carry  their  own  healing." 

"  La,"  she  answered,  a  sharp  note  running  through 
her  voice,  "  why  these  fair  words  to  your  old  friend's 
wife?  They'd  serve  you  better — elsewhere." 

"  Not  so,"  he  replied,  "  elsewhere  fair  words  are  sel- 
dom rooted." 


LADY    CAROLINE    UNMASKS  81 

"And  here?"  she  queried,  a  lift  of  hopefulness  arch- 
ing her  lip. 

"  Here,"  he  answered,  with  unwonted  seriousness, 
"  they  bloom  in  the  richest  soil — that  of  friendship, — 
where  we  may  not  look  for  hastily  seeded  passion  flowers 
nor  rank  weeds  of  self-seeking,  but  for  fairer  blossom- 
ings." 

She  let  her  mirror  fall  upon  her  dressing-table  with 
an  angry  rattle,  and  rose,  her  flowered  tabby  gown 
sweeping  wide  about  her.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed  be- 
neath her  rouge. 

"  Dashwood  returns  shortly,"  she  said,  interrupting 
him  as  he  would  have  continued. 

"  I  know,"  he  answered. 

She  hated  herself  for  the  hope  that  would  gleam  out 
through  the  first  chance  rift  that  seemed  to  offer. 

Going  over  to  him  she  laid  a  jewelled  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"Are  you  glad?"  she  asked,  longing  ardently  for  a 
negation. 

His  brown  eyes  looked  down  into  her  tawny  ones  and 
she  thought  she  read  in  them  a  touch  of  sadness. 

"  Lady  Caroline,"  he  began — the  formality  of  this  title 
portended  seriousness — "  I've  been  a  graceless  rake  all 
my  nine-and-twenty  years,  and  yet  in  that  harvest  of  ill- 
spent  days  no  consequence  has  wounded  me  as  has  the 
knowledge  that  I  possess  to-day  that  I've  killed  the  power 
to  shield  you." 

She  moved  back  from  him,  wondering. 

He  took  a  few  troubled  steps  to  and  fro,  and  when 
he  spoke,  the  emotion  in  his  voice  filled  her  with  jealous 
pain.  Much  as  she  loved  him  she  had  not  rightly  judged 
his  capacity  for  genuine  feeling. 

"  Twice  in  my  life  I  have  met  men  whom  I  have 
trusted  with  all  my  soul,"  went  on  Yerington,  speaking 


82  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

with  an  effort,  for  the  real  heart  of  him  he  kept  hidden. 
"One  is  my  friend  Hugh  Elliot;  but  he's  just  another 
self,  and  I  fear  his  cautions  often  irk  me  to  my  maddest 
extravagances.  The  other  one  is  your  husband." 

He  paused,  Lady  Caroline  watching  him  narrowly.  As 
she  listened,  dreading  his  next  words,  she  began  to  fear 
for  her  self-control.  All  the  false,  simulated  years  were 
having  their  revenge  upon  her.  The  long  strain  had  been 
too  great.  She  dreaded  lest  a  glance  or  a  word  at  this 
crisis  might  lose  him  to  her.  The  hysteria  she  so  often 
affected  was  hovering  near,  threatening  to  overwhelm 
her.  He  expected  her  to  speak,  and  when  she  did  not 
he  found  it  difficult  to  break  the  silence. 

At  this  instant  the  little  monkey,  which  was  Lady 
Caroline's  pet,  began  to  mow  and  gibber  from  its  perch 
above  the  curtains.  Yerington  turned  towards  it  with 
his  invariable  instinct  of  loathing. 

"  Silence,  my  love,"  admonished  Lady  Caroline,  but 
at  intervals  as  Yerington  spoke  it  continued  to  chatter 
distractingly. 

"  Your  ladyship,"  he  went  on,  a  trace  of  almost  boy- 
ish embarrassment  in  his  manner,  "  during  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  I  have  learned  much  that  I  marvel 
did  not  come  to  me  sooner.  I  realise  now  that,  with  the 
best  intentions,  a  man  of  my  reputation  cannot  play  friend 
to  a  woman  fair  as  yourself.  The  world  distorts  such 
relationships." 

Lady  Caroline  turned  sharply  away  and,  misinter- 
preting, he  took  a  troubled  step  towards  her. 

"  Prithee,  dear  lady,"  he  besought,  "  pardon  me  if  I 
must  bring  to  you  the  world's  base  lies  and  insinuations. 
You  have  lived  above  them  and  so  have  no  record  by 
which  to  judge  them.  Believe  me,  I  tell  you  true,  it 
were  better  for  you  that  this  society  of  mine  should  be 
taken  elsewhere." 


LADY    CAROLINE    UNMASKS  83 

Lady  Caroline  opened  and  closed  her  fan  impa- 
tiently. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  my  lord,"  she  said. 

"  Do  not  make  me  speak  more  plainly.  Enough,  dear 
Lady  Caroline,  that  for  your  sake,  and  for  your  hus- 
hand's  sake,  whose  friend  I  am,  I  must  henceforward 
affect  your  society  less.  Prithee,  support  me  in  my  vir- 
tuous  intentions,  for  I  assure  you  my  present  position  sits 
somewhat  oddly  upon  me.  This  slander  will  soon  die 
away  for  want  of  fanning." 

She  caught  her  breath  with  a  sharp  sigh  in  her  throat 
and  the  tortoise-shell  snapped  in  her  ringers.  His  words 
filled  her  with  mingled  despair  and  contempt.  She  flung 
the  broken  pieces  to  the  floor. 

Seeing  them,  the  monkey  descended  and  bore  the  pretty 
trifle  in  triumph  to  his  perch,  where  he  broke  it  to  bits 
with  teeth  and  fingers. 

"  For  want  of  fanning,"  she  quoted,  her  eyes  flashing. 
"  Prithee  tell  me,  my  lord,  is  it  then  your  sovereign  will 
that  I  shall  no  longer  look  to  you  for  escort  to  assemblies 
and  routs  and  drums  ?  " 

For  an  instant  he  was  puzzled.  The  next  moment  he 
attributed  her  annoyance  to  a  heart  too  pure  to  grasp 
his  meaning.  He,  therefore,  answered  patiently: 

"  Even  so,  for  your  sake." 

She  threw  her  head  back  and  laughed,  but  the  mirth 
did  not  reach  her  eyes. 

"  For  my  sake,"  she  echoed.  "  Do  you  dare,  sir,  to 
tell  me,  by  inference,  that  I,  Lady  Caroline  Dashwood, 
know  not  what  becomes  me,  that  I  am  not  fit  to 
protect  my  own  fair  name?  Forsooth,  it  must  be  you 
who  come  here  prating  of  '  For  your  sake ' — '  For  your 
husband's  sake.'  "  She  swept  a  low  curtsey  after  each 
quotation,  her  ringlets  nodding.  "  As  if  I  was  a  green 
country  girl,  just  from  the  tambour-frame,  and  conserve- 


84  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

making.  Lud,  I  am  put  to  It  indeed  when  I  must  turn 
to  you  for  counsel  of  my  manners  and  my  morals." 

The  moment  she  had  dreaded  had  come.  She  was  in 
a  sweep  of  passionate  anger,  which  waxed  with  every 
turn  she  took  over  the  polished  floor,  her  dress  whis- 
pering in  silken  rustles  as  she  moved. 

Into  her  words  Yerington  still  read  the  injured  dig- 
nity of  a  pure-hearted  woman. 

"  On  my  life,  your  ladyship,"  he  answered,  "  I'd 
rather  bear  your  wrath  than,  now  my  eyes  are  opened, 
give  the  tongue  of  scandal  further  argument." 

"  Scandal ! "  she  exclaimed,  all  her  vanity  aflame, 
"  'twill  be  scandal  indeed  when  they  nudge  each  other, 
those  cats  I  hate,  Lady  Caroline  Petersham,  Mistress 
Chudleigh  and  the  others,  and  laugh  and  say  I've  lost 
you." 

She  hit  him  on  the  raw.  Those  were  the  last  names 
he  would  have  chosen  to  link  with  hers.  Though  she 
had  moved  in  their  world,  he  had  never  accounted  her 
of  it.  In  her  wrath  she  had  betrayed  an  intimacy  she 
had  long  manoeuvred  to  conceal  from  him. 

His  face  became  stern,  and  his  eyes  darkened. 

"  The  laughter  of  such  as  they  is  better  for  a  good 
woman  than  their  disdain.  I  trust  they  have  no  place 
within  your  intimate  consideration." 

She  felt  a  momentary  embarrassment  which  turned  off 
into  accusation. 

"La,  Lord  Yerington  as  preacher!  On  my  faith,  it 
sets  ill  upon  you.  You'll  be  joining  Lady  Huntingdon's 
parties,  and  sitting  under  Mr.  Wesley,  I'll  go  bail." 

So  much  of  the  best  of  him  lay  wrapped  up  in  his 
faith  in  this  woman,  that  Lord  Yerington  felt  as  if  the 
world  were  rocking  beneath  his  feet.  Suddenly  the 
waters  of  evil — of  carelessly  spent  days,  of  heedlessness 
of  consequences,  of  repudiation  of  responsibilities — that 


LADY    CAROLINE    UNMASKS  85 

tide  in  which  he  had  drifted,  threatened  to  overwhelm 
the  better  impulses  that  still  clung  to  the  brink. 

The  look  with  which  he  regarded  her,  grave  and  pene- 
trating, spurred  her  on.  The  weakness  of  the  habit- 
ually dissimulating  was  added  to  the  emotion  that 
possessed  her,  and  she  doubted  him,  doubted  his  sin- 
cerity. The  suspicion  seized  her  that  his  self-restraint 
was  but  indifference.  This  thrust  aside  such  prudence 
as  her  anger  had  left  her. 

"  I  know,"  she  cried  wildly,  "  'tis  another  woman. 
Some  hussy  has  come  between  us.  'Tis  not  of  me  you 
are  thinking,  but  of  her.  She's  jealous  and  you'd  spare 
her." 

She  came  nearer,  seeking  to  read  his  face.  Her  own 
was  distorted.  He  looked  past  her  eyes,  seeing  for  the 
first  time  what  lay  beyond. 

"  My  God !  "  he  groaned,  and  turned  away  from 
her. 

Then  she  realised  all  she  had  lost.  She  was  filled  by 
a  delirium  of  despair. 

"  Yerington,"  she  besought,  clutching  him,  endeavour- 
ing to  lay  her  perfumed  head  upon  his  shoulder ;  "  for- 
give me!  Indeed,  I  was  distraught." 

He  stood  like  a  man  of  iron.  He  could  not  endure 
to  look  at  her. 

Her  voice  was  now  all  softness.  She  took  his  hand 
coaxingly  between  hers,  leaning  against  him  as  she 
did  so. 

"  Beloved,  beloved,"  she  entreated,  "  don't  turn  from 
me.  For  years  there's  been  no  me — only  thee.  Could  I 
bear  to  let  thee  pass  out  of  my  life  without  a  word,  and 
leave  me  desolate — a  ghost,  a  shadow?" 

From  this  moment  of  his  life  he  was  to  turn,  bereaved 
of  much  that  gave  it  dignity.  In  this  room,  with  its 
scents  and  trifles,  its  rouge-pots,  pomades  and  patch- 


86  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

boxes,  its  scattered  curl-papers  and  huddle  of  unoc- 
cupied chairs,  he  was  to  leave  behind  him  a  dead  belief. 
As  he  rounded  this  new  corner  of  his  life  with  finality 
his  manner  changed. 

He  drew  back  from  her,  placed  his  heels  together  and 
made  a  low  bow.  His  eyes  were  mocking. 

"My  compliments  upon  your  miming!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  'Pon  honour,  you  do  it  well.  I  must  com- 
mend you  to  Mr.  Garrick.  Play  out  your  roles,  dear 
Lady  Caroline.  I  kiss  your  hand.  Faith,  it  diverts  me 
to  think  how  I  must  have  irked  you  with  what  you  call 
my  Methodistical  airs!  " 

"  Yerington,"  she  entreated,  desperation  in  her  voice, 
for  he  was  bowing  himself  nearer  to  the  door,  his  face 
white  and  hard.  Darting  past  him,  she  stood  barring  his 
passage,  one  hand  stretched  to  ward  him  back.  "  Don't 
leave  me  like  this.  I'll  be  what  you  will, — discreet,  kind 
to  Dashwood.  Don't  leave  me." 

His  manner  was  courteous  and  suave. 

"  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  lay  a  hand  upon  you,"  he 
said.  "  But,  methinks,  your  tire-woman  might  wonder 
if  I  sought  the  other  passage." 

She  fell  forward  upon  her  knees,  sobbing  and  clinging 
to  him. 

"  Another  pose?  "  he  queried.  "  I  commend  you.  'Tis 
infinitely  becoming.  Had  Niobe  so  superb  a  neck  I'll 
swear  the  gods  would  have  spared  her." 

He  slipped  past  her  and  opened  the  door. 

Seeing  him  upon  the  eve  of  departure  broke  down 
the  last  clinging  shreds  of  her  pride.  If  he  left  her  with 
that  expression  on  his  face  she  knew  her  last  hold  upon 
him  was  gone,  that  he  went  forever.  The  future  loomed 
before  her  terrifying,  unfaceable. 

"Yerington,  Yerington!"  she  pleaded,  all  tactful  fa- 
cility of  phrase  deserting  her  in  her  panic  of  the  empty 


LADY    CAROLINE    UNMASKS          87 

future,  "  don't  go !  On  my  knees  I  beseech  you,  don't 
go!'; 

His  eyes  grew  cruel.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  read  her  more  unworthy  than  she  was. 

She  was  a  beautiful  picture.  Her  curls  drooped  about 
her  face;  her  eyes  were  eloquent  with  despair;  her  soft, 
round  arms  were  stretched  out  to  him  in  an  agony  of 
entreaty.  The  sight  of  her  loveliness  but  deepened  the 
sting  of  his  disillusion.  How  above  all  women  in  his 
world  had  she  stood  but  an  hour  before!  He  turned 
sick  at  soul  as  he  looked  at  her.  His  faith  in  her  had 
been  so  rare  a  thing,  helping  like  the  roots  of  a  sturdy 
tree  to  keep  the  earth  within  his  soul  in  poise.  His  belief 
in  good  dwindled  to  a  pin-point. 

As  her  groping  ringers  touched  him,  he  laughed  out  a 
harsh,  abrupt  peal  that  struck  her  like  a  blow.  She 
shrank  together,  shuddering,  her  eyes  fixed  and  staring 
upon  his. 

"  Acting  again,  my  lady,"  he  mocked. 

"  Stay,  stay,"  she  murmured  with  stiff  lips,  putting  a 
further  stamp  upon  his  misreading. 

A  flame  of  wrath  shot  through  him. 

"  You  bid  me  stay,"  he  said,  his  voice  like  steel, 
"  you  would  have  me  lend  myself  to  the  base  role  you've 
planned  for  me.  Prithee,  upon  what  terms  would  you 
have  me?  As  your  paramour?  How  may  I  judge 
where  I  stand  in  your  regard  ?  God !  God !  "  he  cried 
in  a  sudden  access  of  feeling;  "I'd  loathe  thee  less  had 
I  not  trusted  thee  so  utterly.  How  many  men,  bethink 
you,  have  you  besought  to  stay?  " 

With  a  moan    she  covered  her  face. 

"  No,  no !  not  that,"  she  cried  inarticulately.  "  Be- 
lieve me,  not  that." 

"  You've  taught  me  to  believe,"  he  exclaimed  bitterly. 
"  Would  you  have  me  again  believe  you  and  be  twice 


88  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

befooled  ?  "  He  threw  back  his  head  with  a  gesture  of 
his  hand  across  his  forehead.  "  Gad !  but  that  diverts 
me.  The  Lady  Caroline  protests." 

He  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  upon  his  laugh. 
Every  note  of  it  rang  an  insult.  When  an  instant  later 
he  reopened  it  he  discovered  the  woman  he  had  just 
flouted  crouched  where  he  had  left  her,  her  eyes  wild. 

"  If  you  betray  Dashwood  I'll  not  spare  you,"  he  said. 

She  listened  dumbly  until  the  ring  of  his  heel  upon  the 
parquet  floor  was  no  longer  audible.  As  the  last  echo  of 
it  died  to  silence  she  threw  herself  prostrate,  clutching 
at  the  polished  boards  in  a  paroxysm  of  futile  passion. 

"  I'll  make  him  suffer,"  she  gasped,  "  I'll  make  him 
suffer,  suffer,  suffer!" 

Her  voice  ceased.  Lady  Caroline  had  fainted  hon- 
estly, simply,  directly, — not  from  wounded  love,  but  from 
rage  and  flagellated  vanity. 


CHAPTER    X 

A   HEDGEROW    BURLESQUE 

FAG. — You'll   be   secret,   Thomas? 
COACHMAN. — As   a   coach-horse. 

FAG. — Why  then  the  cause  of  all  this  is — Love — who  has 
been  a  masquerader  ever  since  the  days  of  Jupiter. 

— RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN. 

A  TRAVELLING  coach,  drawn  by  four  white  horses,  was 
bowling  over  the  highroads  of  Warwickshire.  The 
postilions,  rising  and  falling  in  their  saddles,  were 
urging  the  animals  forward  at  a  smart  pace.  They  knew 
well  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  in  the  coach  behind  them 
was  no  lover  of  slow  travelling. 

The  coach  was  followed  by  a  chaise,  piled  high  within 
and  without  with  luggage,  and  containing  two  gentle- 
men's gentlemen.  One  was  a  dapper  little  man,  with 
his  eyebrows  half  way  up  his  forehead,  and  who  at 
every  changing  of  the  horses  carefully  counted  and  re- 
counted the  luggage. 

The  dusky  coach  had  two  occupants.  Lord  Yering- 
ton  was  lounging  in  a  corner  making  an  ineffective  at- 
tempt at  slumber.  Captain  Elliot  leaned  forward,  in- 
tent upon  the  scenes  through  which  they  raced. 

"  Wake  up,  you  lazy  dog,"  said  the  Captain,  prodding 
his  companion,  "  and  see  the  real  world.  This  is  better 
than  the  Mall." 

Yerington  peered  out  sleepily. 

"  The  real  world,"  he  quoted.  "  Item,  a  village  with 
one  street;  item,  a  slinking  dog;  item,  a  horse  trough; 
item,  an  inebriated  yokel.  Spud  me,  I'd  rather  buy  a  toy 
one  at  Mistress  Chevenixes'." 

89 


90  A   DISCIPLE   OP   CHANCE 

Elliot  laughed  in  high  spirits,  for  he  thought  he  was 
having  his  own  way  in  this  journey. 

"  Pay  up  like  a  gentleman,  and  no  grumbling,"  he  said, 
"  for  you  know  it  was  this  flitting  against  that  trick 
you  played  with  Mansur;  and  now  you  slumber  through 
it." 

"  Not  I.  The  devil  take  this  deep-sea-roller  of  a  coach. 
And  when  I  bargained  with  thee  I  had  no  thought  of 
the  inns — of  the  chickens  whose  dying  squeak  mingled 
with  the  spatter  of  their  fat  upon  the  grill.  'Fore  Gad, 
it's  too  damned  natural." 

"  What  you  need  is  a  bit  of  camp  life,"  said  Elliot 
disapprovingly. 

"  What  I  need  is  a  rattle  of  the  bones  at  hazard  and 
a  bowl  of  steaming  punch. 

" '  I  was  happy  when  I  met  thee, — 
Fragile  me  and  wanton  you,'  " 

he  hummed  in  the  words  of  a  ditty  of  that  day,  bal- 
anced his  hat  upon  his  knees  and  regarded  the  Captain 
from  a  corner  of  his  eye. 

"  Now  we  are  fair  launched  into  the  God-forsaken 
country,  can  you  find  it  in  your  heart  to  tell  me  why 
you  made  all  that  tara-diddle  with  Mansur  a  few  nights 
since  ?  " 

Captain  Elliot  did  not  reply  immediately,  for  he  was 
annoyed.  Then  he  said  slowly,  as  he  had  that  night  at 
White's: 

"  Once  a  hound,  always  a  hound." 

"  And  you'd  have  fought  him  for  a  boyish  caper," 
asked  Yerington  wonderingly,  "  which  I'd  clean  forgot 
you  dour,  unforgiving  Scot?" 

Elliot  turned  wrathfully  to  him. 

"  But  has  he  forgot?  God,  man,  there  are  times  when 
I  almost  lose  faith  in  thee.  I'll  warrant  I  would  have 


A    HEDGEROW    BURLESQUE  91 

skewered  him  with  a  good  appetite,  and  I  would  to- 
day, but  for  the  oath  you  stole  from  me." 

"  Phew,"  whistled  Yerington,  and  he  avoided  the  ex- 
igence of  argument  by  affected  slumber. 

But  for  some  moments  Captain  Elliot's  angry  fingers 
drummed  upon  the  casing  of  the  open  coach  window. 

At  the  next  inn  their  repast  was  presided  over  by  a 
comely  dame  in  a  lavender  print  gown.  She  had  known 
Yerington  from  his  boyhood,  and  beamed  upon  him,  while 
he  ate  and  drank,  complimented  and  toasted. 

"  Oh,  lud,  what  high  spirits  your  lordship  do  have," 
she  said,  bridling.  "  How  like  you  be  to  your  father,  the 
late  earl!  I  never  see  a  gentleman  could  bear  himself 
that  noble.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  serve  his  lordship." 

"  I'll  warrant  you  did  not  enjoy  your  service  more 
than  he  enjoyed  the  serving,  my  good  Mistress  Adams." 

"  How  like  the  dear  late  earl!  "  said  the  radiant  Mrs. 
Adams,  unperceiving  the  ambiguous  twist  of  this  last 
remark.  "  He  did  have  such  a  way  of  putting  things. 
That's  what  it  is  to  be  quality,  as  I  tell  my  husband." 

"  You  flatter  us,"  responded  the  earl,  "  upon  my  soul, 
you  do." 

"  La,  how  you  do  rattle,"  said  Mrs.  Adams,  straight- 
ening an  imaginary  fold  in  the  tablecloth,  "  though  we 
do  know  the  quality  when  we  see  them.  There  was 
one  gentleman  as  went  out  just  as  your  lordship  entered 
the  inn.  '  Susan,'  says  I  to  my  daughter — she  with  the 
black  eyes  and  the  pink  gown — '  he's  not  the  quality,1 
says  I,  '  for  all  his  coach  and  his  horses  and  his  fine 
clothes.  I  can  tell  one,'  says  I  to  my  daughter,  '  and 
I'll  warrant  the  mother  as  had  the  bearing  of  him  was 
no  lady.'  Hoping,"  with  a  curtsey,  "  that  your  lordship 
will  pardon  the  liberty.  But  I  was  that  put  to  it." 

Yerington  sipped  his  negus,  leaning  back  in  his  oaken 
chair  with  his  legs  crossed. 


92  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Blame  yourself,  Mistress  Adams,"  he  said,  "  for  we 
poor  men  are  weak  creatures,  and  beauty  tempts." 

"  Oh,  lud,  your  lordship,  it  was  not  that.  It's  a  pleas- 
ure to  serve  the  quality  of  the  four  counties  with  my 
own  hand." 

"  I'm  grateful  for  the  privilege,  Mistress  Adams." 

"  But,  your  lordship,  this  man  was  all  for  hastening 
on,  and  in  such  a  way.  Ordering  this  way  and  that 
way,  and  yet  never  satisfied." 

"And  you  think  this  stamps  a  man  as  without  the 
gentry?  "  queried  Elliot. 

"  Lud,  sir,  that  was  not  it.  After  keeping  the  inn  in 
a  roar  with  his  orders,  you'll  scarce  believe  me,  sir,  but 
he  found  fault  with  the  account.  He  haggled  over  every 
penny,  and  if  the  stable-boys  jeered  when  he  drove  off 
you  can't  be  wondering.  I  control  them  as  best  I  can, 
but " 

"  Stable-boys  will  be  stable-boys,"  drawled  Elliot. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  she  answered  complacently. 
"  And  Mr.  Mansur  cannot  blame  them  if  they  are  only 
human  stable-boys.  Nothing  will  persuade  me,  your  lord- 
ship," the  woman  ended  firmly,  "  that  that  dark  gentle- 
man, for  all  the  airs  he  gave  himself,  was  not  a  high- 
wayman. Nothing ! " 

Captain  Elliot  shook  with  a  silent  laughter  that 
brought  tears  to  his  eyes. 

"  There's  one  for  you,  Harry,"  he  gasped.  "  Mistress 
Adams,  you've  done  me  a  good  turn  this  day." 

Mrs.  Adams'  mob  cap  border  trembled  with  dismay. 

"A  friend  of  your  lordship's!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh, 
your  lordship,  I  scarce  caught  sight  of  him,  and  the 
stable-boys  are  villainous  liars." 

Soon  afterwards  they  resumed  their  journey. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  proceeding  at  a  spank- 
ing gait  through  a  wood  where  the  trees  met  overhead 


A    HEDGEROW    BURLESQUE  93 

and  the  sun  picked  out  golden  patches  on  the  road  here 
and  there.  It  was  a  lonely  spot,  one  that  would  bring 
the  thought  of  highwaymen  into  the  minds  of  even  hardy 
travellers.  Captain  Elliot  turned  to  examine  the  priming 
of  the  pistols  fitted  into  the  holsters  in  the  coach  beside 
him. 

Yerington  leaned  forward,  scanning  the  underbrush 
with  interest.  A  sound  had  caught  his  ears  unlike  the 
steady  rumble  of  the  coach.  No  one  was  visible,  and  yet 
he  had  distinctly  heard  a  suppressed  cough. 

"  Draw  up,"  he  called  out  sharply  to  the  men. 

They  did  so  with  evident  reluctance.  They,  too,  had 
heard  the  sound,  and  in  this  solitary  spot  it  had  sent 
their  hearts  clip-clapping. 

"  Had  we  not  best  dash  for  it,  your  lordship  ?  "  asked 
one,  approaching  and  touching  his  hat  with  fingers  that 
were  not  steady. 

"  Not  we,"  responded  Yerington,  putting  out  one 
booted  foot,  "  I  saw  the  bracken  move.  We'll  have  a 
rabbit  hunt." 

"  I'll  warrant  'tis  but  a  lost  sheep  or  a  wandering 
one,"  said  Elliot  jestingly.  He  followed,  however.  His 
pistol  was  in  his  pocket,  but  his  fingers  were  on  the 
lock. 

"  With  a  damned  human  cough,"  returned  Yerington. 
"  There,  the  rascals  are  running." 

The  bracken  stirred,  indicating  an  evident  retreat. 

"  My  friends,"  he  drawled  languidly,  "  why  not  be 
philosophers?  We  have  you  covered." 

A  low  laugh  answered  him,  and  the  rustling  ceased. 

"  Ecod,  my  lord,  and  what  proof  have  you  that  we 
may  not  wing  you  ? "  said  a  voice  as  languid  as  his 
own.  "  I  admire  your  courage,  but  your  prudence  would 
scarce  save  your  skin." 

The  voice  fell  upon  Yerington's  ears  with  a  vague 


94  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

sense  of  familiarity  and  brought  him  to  a  full  halt.  He 
stood,  a  long,  green-clad  target  for  unseen  foes.  Behind 
him  came  Elliot. 

"  The  fellow's  right,"  he  said.  "  But  you,  Hugh,  the 
hero  of  Indian  rights,  what  say  you  to  this?  " 

Elliot  looked  comically  taken. 

"  I'll  confess  I  thought  'twas  but  a  beastie,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

At  this  moment  a  man's  figure  rose  above  the  under- 
brush. He  presented  a  thin,  pinched  face,  eyes  full  of 
crafty  intelligence,  a  frayed  hat  set  at  a  rakish  angle,  and 
the  mockery  of  a  coat  which  was  fastened  at  the  waist, 
and  over  which  flowed  the  tattered  ruffles  of  a  filthy 
shirt. 

Yerington  gave  a  low  whistle  and  turned  to  Elliot. 

"  Gad's  life !  "  he  cried,  "  'tis  the  scarecrow  of  Tem- 
ple Bar.  The  Flying  Mail  to  Matrimony." 

The  fellow  responded  by  swinging  off  his  hat. 

"  Your  lordship's  memory  flatters  me,"  he  said. 

"  You  travel  well  in  the  grass,  sir  snake,"  said  Yering- 
ton, eyeing  him  suspiciously. 

"  My  belly,"  answered  the  man,  "  is  a  meddling  brute 
of  a  member,  and  unless  I  humour  it  now  and  again  it 
will  have  the  best  of  me.  For  the  nonce,  you  see,  I 
chose  to  travel  on  it." 

"  No  words !  "  exclaimed  Elliot  impatiently.  "  Let 
your  companions  show  themselves." 

He  made  a  start  in  the  man's  direction,  intent  on  bring- 
ing hostilities  to  a  focus. 

"  If  you  would  call  the  roll,"  said  the  rogue,  "  there 
are  two  of  us."  And  he  gave  a  kick  in  the  grass. 
"  Come  up,  my  darling.  The  gentlemen  would  see  your 
pretty  face." 

Slowly  a  shambling  giant  of  a  man  arose,  his  wide, 
vacant  eyes  staring,  and  speechless  with  fear. 


A    HEDGEROW    BURLESQUE  95 

"  Your  honours,"  he  burst  out  at  length,  with  a  calf- 
like  bleat,  "  'tis  my  first  such  prank.  And  you  know  it 
well,  Tom,"  turning  in  appeal  to  his  companion. 

"  A  mighty  man  over  the  bottle,"  said  Tom,  "  but 
daylight  and  sobriety  shake  the  marrow  of  him." 

"  He's  harmless,"  said   Elliot. 

Lord  Yerington  and  Captain  Elliot  broke  their  way 
through  the  bracken  to  where  the  men  stood.  With  a 
magisterial  air  the  former  seated  himself  upon  a  lichened 
stone. 

"  Prisoner,"  he  demanded,  "  advance  and  give  your 
evidence." 

The  man  called  Tom  grinned  responsively. 

"  I'm  tempted  to  tell  your  lordship  the  truth,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  ee,  Tom,  don't  ee,"  cried  his  companion. 
"  He'll  no  be  believing  thee,  and  we  may  hang  for 
it." 

"  Pah,"  cried  Tom,  "  think  you  I'd  serve  up  truth,  un- 
less 'twere  a  commodity  best  suited  for  the  occasion? 
A  well-spiced  tale  is  ever  more  to  my  fancy.  First,  my 
lord,"  he  continued,  "  I  must  plead  in  defence  of  my 
employer  the  vagaries  of  that  impetuous  passion, — love. 
Youth,  youth,  youth !  "  he  cried  and  cast  up  his  eyes. 

Lord  Yerington's  own  flickered. 

"  That's  the  second  time  within  the  week  you've  spoke 
that  word  to  me.  'Pon  honour,  it  will  go  ill  with  you, 
if  your  eloquence  again  be  squandered  in  so  poor  a 
cause." 

Tom's  face  grew  serious. 

"  I'll  serve  you  the  facts,  my  lord,  with  as  little  dress- 
ing as  possible." 

His  companion  groaned. 

"  You  may  talk  us  into  Newgate,"  he  protested. 

"  We  were  fair  put  to  it,"  Tom  began,  "  and  a  lover 
came  across  our  path.  What  he  asked  meant  at  worst 


96  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

but  a  swoon  or  two,  and  a  dose  of  sal  volatile  for  the 
ladies." 

"  Ladies,"  echoed  Yerington,  with  a  frown. 

"  A  mere  nothing,  my  lord.  Only  a  flutter  that  a 
man's  shoulder  could  cure.  I'  faith  he  was  in  desperate 
need." 

Yerington  gave  an  exclamation  of  impatience.  The 
introduction  had  not  pleased  him.  The  man  hastened  on. 

'  'Twas  a  question  in  which  we  risked  our  skins.  Our 
pistols  were  not  loaded.  The  gentleman  so  stipulated, 
and  let  them  bear  witness." 

Captain  Elliot  examined  the  weapons. 

"  No  charge  nor  recent  powder  marks,"  he  said 
briefly. 

Lord  Yerington's  eyes  were  beginning  to  dance. 

"  I  scent  a  pretty  story  here,  Hugh,"  he  said.  "  And 
what  more?" 

"  But  the  veriest  bit  of  gallantry,"  answered  Tom. 
"  At  best — a  lady's  heart ;  at  worst — its  palpitation." 

"  Phrases,"  sneered   Captain   Elliot  impatiently. 

"  The  lady,  it  would  seem,  had  not  yet  reached  the 
yielding  point,"  the  fellow  continued.  "  The  impatient 
gentleman  would  hasten  matters.  In  brief,  for  the  nonce, 
we  were  highwaymen;  this  stretch  of  woods  our  lurk- 
ing place, — you'll  admit  it  was  admirably  adapted  for 
the  purpose — our  pistols  were  two  great  boasts  to  which 
we  could  not  live  up,  as  your  lordship  knows.  The 
coachman  and  postilions  already  had  known  the  colour 
of  the  gentleman's  gold;  and  the  ladies!  One  had  a 
tongue  to  make  you  quail!  Faith,  we  had  a  lashing.  As 
for  the  younger  one  I  scarce  caught  sight  of  her.  We 
rushed  forth  flourishing  our  weapons.  The  postilions 
affected  panic.  Up  dashed  the  young  gallant  to  the 
rescue.  Our  part  then  was  over.  He  had  routed  us 
fairly,  at  so  much  a  head.  So  there  you  have  it — a  play ; 


A    HEDGEROW    BURLESQUE  97 

a  romance;  a  farce.  Who  knows?  Think  you,  my  lord, 
this  merits  jail?  " 

"  Gad,"  gasped  Yerington,  over  his  knees  which  he  had 
taken  into  his  embrace;  "heard  you  ever  a  better  jest, 
Hugh?  A  farce,  a  roaring  farce." 

"  Damned  poor  sport,"  commented  Captain  Elliot 
drily. 

"  Prithee,  did  she  faint? "  queried  Yerington  with 
sudden  interest. 

"  Not  she,  my  lord.     She  was  a  plucky  one." 

"  No  shoulder  then,"  said  Yerington.  "  He  lost  on 
that  throw."  A  sudden  light  danced  across  his  face. 
"  I'll  swear  'twas  Mansur,"  he  said. 

He  looked  at  the  fellow  sharply,  whose  face  betrayed 
nothing.  He  was  true  to  his  pay.  In  the  background 
the  great  booby  hastened  to  perjure  himself. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Mansur,"  he  whimpered,  "  and  do  you 
but  let  us  off,  we'll  have  no  dealings  with  him  again." 

Bethinking  himself  of  his  role  of  magistrate,  Lord 
Yerington  ordered  them  away  with  an  air  of  some  dig- 
nity and  a  wink  to  Captain  Elliot. 

"  But  mind,  no  more  such  tricks,"  he  ended,  "  or  it 
will  go  ill  with  you." 

The  great  shambling  giant,  a  comical  enough  bogie 
to  throw  at  a  frightened  woman,  slid  off  among  the 
trees  and  was  lost  to  view. 

Tom,  however,  could  not  forbear  a  sweeping  bow 
and  Lord  Yerington  caught  his  shoulder  in  his  strong 
fingers. 

"How  goes  it  with  the  mother  and  the  sister?"  he 
said. 

A  fleeting  expression  of  better  feeling  appeared  in  the 
man's  face. 

"Very  ill,  I.  fear,  my  lord,"  he  answered  with  some- 
thing like  shame. 


98  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"Are  they  honest?"  asked  Yerington,  watching  him. 

Tom's  eyes  met  his  fairly. 

"  A  fit  question  of  such  a  son,"  he  answered.  "  They 
are  honest  as  the  day, — God  pity  them  both." 

"And  the  name?" 

"  Lascelles,"  said  the  fellow  with  a  faint  trace  of  pride. 

"  A  good  name/'  said  Yerington. 

"  It  takes  but  a  few  generations  of  such  men  as  I  to 
bring  good  names  to  the  dust.  The  best  man  of  our 
family,  as  I've  told  you,  my  lord,  was  hanged." 

His  manner  was  bitter  with  regret  and  a  seeming 
helplessness  to  right  the  wrong. 

"How  may  I  find  your  mother?"  asked  Yerington. 

A  few  words  informed  him  and  he  entered  the  address 
in  his  note-book. 

"  My  steward  will  find  work  for  them,"  he  said. 

The  man  straightened  himself,  a  strange  light  in  his 
eyes.  He  seemed  unable  to  grasp  the  purport  of  Yering- 
ton's  words.  As  conviction  seized  him  he  was  overcome 
by  sudden,  weak  laughter. 

"  Pardon,  my  lord,"  he  gasped,  "  I  have  not  broke 
fast.  From  my  heart  I  thank  you." 

He  left  them  abruptly.  At  intervals  as  they  stood 
listening,  the  laughter  that  was  near  to  tears  came  to 
them;  and  it  sat  upon  their  spirits  with  a  sense  of 
tragedy. 


CHAPTER   XI 

CAPTAIN    ELLIOT  REQUIRES   REINFORCEMENTS 

When  an  engineer  finds  his  guns  have  not  the  desired  effect, 
he  changes  his  batteries. 

— THE  TATLER. 

THE  chimneys  of  Oxholme  Castle  were  smoking  for  the 
first  time  in  many  months. 

Within  its  great  hall,  Lord  Yerington  and  Captain 
Elliot,  still  in  their  travelling  dress,  were  regaling  them- 
selves over  a  bowl  of  steaming  punch. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Captain  Elliot. 

"  I'd  be  overpaid,"  drawled  Yerington.  "  'Tis  of  the 
way  back  to  London.  I  see  a  procession  of  damp  beds,  of 
half-cooked  fowls,  of  bridling  landladies  and  damned 
insistent  guide-posts  telling  me  how  far  I  am  from  town. 
And,  what  of  your  thoughts?  " 

The  Captain  was  frowning  at  him,  through  the  blue 
smoke  arising  from  his  churchwarden. 

"I'm  thinking  of  the  ride  I  intend  to  take  to-mor- 
row," he  said.  "  And  here  are  you  yawning  out  your  life 
in  the  finest  country  God  ever  made,  because  you  can't 
be  in  a  dirty  coffee-house,  with  a  score  of  bloods  as  empty- 
headed  as  yourself,  or  dangling  about  the  ladies'  boudoirs 
while  they  put  on  their  red,  and  pick  the  lock  of  a  repu- 
tation. There  are  times,  Harry,  when  I  weary  of  thee." 

Yerington  covered  a  yawn  with  his  hand. 

"  I've  been  counting,"  he  said;  "you  spoke  a  hundred 
words !  " 

Despite  himself,  Elliot  laughed. 

"  Are  you  never  serious?  "  he  asked. 

"Never  at  Oxholme,"  answered  Yerington;  "or 
99 


100  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

what  chance  would  I  have  against  this  awful  array  of 
my  ancestors?" 

He  waved  his  arm  to  indicate  the  portrait-panelled 
walls  of  the  hall. 

"  A  race  to  be  proud  of ! "  exclaimed  Elliot. 

"  Gad,  that's  what's  the  matter.  I've  heard  that  since 
I  was  in  my  cradle.  I  hadn't  the  choosing  of  fate  that 
made  me  the  last  of  my  line." 

He  rose  up  and  wandered  about  the  room. 

"  This  is  Sir  Reginald  Gower,"  he  said,  pausing  before 
the  portrait  of  an  eagle-faced  man  in  armour.  "  He 
fought  under  William  the  Norman  and  laid  the  first 
stone  of  Oxholme.  Is  that  a  face,  I  ask  you,  to  add 
savour  to  existence?  See  that  beak." 

"  The  nose  of  a  warrior,"  said  Elliot. 

"  That  square  chin." 

"  The  corner-stone  of  character." 

"Character!"  exclaimed  Yerington.  "Do  you  sup- 
pose he  ever  thought  save  in  Roman  capitals?  Or  swore 
an  oath  of  less  than  twenty  letters  ?  " 

He  turned  toward  the  table  with  a  shrug. 

"  It  gives  a  man  the  vapours  to  think  how  many  of 
them  went  into  the  mixing  of  him.  Oxholme  plus  por- 
traits, plus  their  eyes.  Damme !  I  don't  like  it." 

As  he  resumed  his  place  opposite  the  Captain,  that 
young  soldier  leaned  forward  and  placed  a  hand  for  an 
instant  upon  his  arm  before  he  withdrew  it  with  some 
embarrassment. 

"  There's  a  sparkle  in  that  reckless  soul  of  yours  that's 
like  a  tonic  to  my  sobered  blood,  Harry,"  he  said.  "  But 
I'm  concerned  about  you." 

"  One  thing  I  promise  you,"  laughed  Yerington,  "  if 
'twill  give  you  comfort,  Hugh,  and  that  is  that  I  shall 
not  be  sepulchred  with  my  feet  upon  a  dice-box  and  a 
folly  in  my  hand." 


REINFORCEMENTS    REQUIRED       101 

Captain  Elliot  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  I  prithee,  good  grandam,  don't,"  protested  Yering- 
ton.  "  Turn  to  this  philosopher,  Sir  Punch,  and  be 
merry.  There's  no  such  shield  and  buckler  'gainst  the 
onslaughts  of  a  damned  meddling  conscience  as  a  laugh." 

For  some  moments  Elliot  regarded  him  with  his  shrewd 
Scotch  eyes.  Then  he  lifted  up  his  glass  of  the  com- 
mended punch  and  drained  it. 

"  He  is  going  straight  to  the  devil,"  he  was  thinking, 
"  and  the  right  woman,  mayhap,  might  save  him.  I  can- 
not." 

The  punch,  as  he  drank  it,  was  flavourless. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE   LORD   OF   THE  MANOR 
Five  geese, — a  landscape  damp  and  wild 

Such  things,   to  say   the   least,   require 
A  Muse  of  more  than  average  fire. 

— AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

THE  next  morning  Lord  Yerington  arose  with  a  sense  of 
pleasurable  anticipation. 

Captain  Elliot  departed  early  on  an  extended  ride,  and 
this  left  his  host  to  his  own  devices.  At  ten  in  the  morn- 
ing he  swung  off  across  the  meadows  towards  Oxholme 
village  at  a  brisk  pace. 

As  he  came  in  sight  of  it  his  face  brightened.  It  was 
the  field  of  many  a  boyish  exploit,  and  it  had  been  years 
since  he  had  caught  more  than  a  casual  glimpse  of  it.  At 
one  end  of  it  arose  the  market-cross  and  facing  it  was  the 
well-remembered  gable  front  of  the  Royal  Arms,  his 
secret  goal  ever  since  he  had  left  London. 

One  of  the  first  objects  that  arrested  his  attention  was 
a  man  seated  before  an  easel,  painting.  It  was  an  unusual 
sight  and  Lord  Yerington  drew  near  and  glanced  over  his 
shoulder. 

The  artist  turned  and  looked  at  him.  He  revealed, 
as  he  did  so,  a  pale  face  with  delicate  features,  luminous 
brown  eyes  and  a  sensitive,  beautiful  mouth. 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Yerington,  "  I'll  be  bound  'tis 
Michael  Culpepper." 

The  young  man  did  not  rise  with  ready  village  defer- 
ence. Instead  he  returned  to  his  canvas,  giving  it  an  in- 
different stroke  here  and  there. 

"Your  lordship's  memory  flatters  me,"  he  answered. 
103 


THE    LORD    OF    THE    MANOR       103 

"  Michael  Culpepper,  indeed,  born  to  the  Royal  Arms, 
but  not  to  the  purple.  'Tis  long  since  Oxholme  village 
has  had  the  pleasure  of  welcoming  you.  Doubtless,  your 
lordship  has  passed  the  time  pleasantly.  The  steward  has 
well  represented  you  here." 

"  Put  that  as  you  will,"  responded  Lord  Yerington 
lightly,  though  he  caught  the  grate  of  irony  in  the  tone. 
"  Prithee,  how  is  your  good  mother?" 

"  Well,  your  lordship,"  answered  Michael  without 
turning  his  head. 

"  And  your  pretty  cousin  ?  I  trust  that  she  suffered  no 
ill  results  from  her  adventure?  " 

The  brush  twisted  nervously  in  Michael's  grasp  and 
fell  to  the  ground.  He  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and  when 
he  raised  his  face  again  it  was  slightly  flushed.  He  began 
gathering  his  apparatus  hastily  together. 

"  No,  I  thank  your  lordship,"  he  said.  "  Is  your  lord- 
ship bent  upon  visiting  the  inn  ?  " 

"  I  just  thought  I'd  drop  in  and  make  my  compliments 
and  inquiries,"  said  Yerington. 

It  was  with  something  nearer  astonishment  than  sur- 
prise that  he  perceived  that  Michael  had  taken  easel, 
paint-box  and  canvas  under  his  arm  and  was  hurrying  of$ 
towards  the  inn  without  further  ceremony. 

He  opened  his  lips  to  call  after  him,  closed  them  again, 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Burn  me,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  we  must  not 
judge  these  poor  devils,  for  there's  a  fine  distinction  be- 
twixt genius  and  madness,  and  from  what  I  saw  upon  his 
canvas,  methinks  this  man  is  cursed  with  somewhat  of  the 
former." 

He  soon  reached  the  inn,  a  dignified  stone  structure 
with  many  gabled  and  mullioned  windows,  and  across 
the  front  of  which  ran  a  shallow  garden,  guarded  by  a 
stone  wall. 


104.  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Lord  Yerington  passed  under  the  lintel  and  into  the 
hall.  The  rooms  to  right  and  left  were  empty. 

He  heard  the  sound  of  men's  voices.  He  passed  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  and,  glancing  down  the  narrow  passage, 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  tap-room.  It  swam  in  a  haze 
of  smoke  and  he  heard  an  interrupted  come  and  go  of  the 
broad  Worcestershire  drawl.  A  horse-fair  in  the  village 
had  gathered  the  tenants  from  the  neighbouring  farms 
and  the  room  was  full. 

Lord  Yerington  felt  an  inclination  to  pass  a  few  words 
with  these  seldom-visited  people  of  his — a  kindly  impulse 
rooted  in  an  old  affection.  He  went  down  the  hall,  past 
the  kitchen  and  stood  in  the  doorway.  The  men  ap- 
peared dimly  through  the  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  rising 
from  their  pipes.  They  were  all  smoking,  save  the  poorer 
ones,  to  whom  tobacco  was  an  unpurchasable  luxury,  and 
exchanging  their  short  country  confidences.  The  prin- 
cipal topic  of  interest  that  'day  was  the  return  of  the  lord 
of  the  manor. 

"  They  do  say,"  said  one  man  as  he  kicked  a  log  into 
place  with  his  heavy  boot,  "  as  he  takes  milk  baths  to 
keep  his  skin  so  white  and  fine." 

The  village  cobbler,  a  small  man  with  bowed  shoulders, 
laughed,  revealing  his  toothless  gums. 

"  My  daughter  is  housemaid  at  the  castle.  She  saw  his 
dressing-room,  and  she  says  it  was  that  full  of  pastes,  and 
patches,  and  smelling-bottles; — 'Ods  bodikins!  a  Court 
lady  could  scarce  have  used  half." 

A  contemptuous  chorus  arose. 

A  hulking  youth,  with  gorilla-like  length  of  arm,  and 
knees  set  far  back,  double-jointed  and  swinging  forward 
toward  the  feet,  which  always  tell  of  strength,  if  ugliness, 
leaned  back  and  gave  vent  to  a  great  laugh. 

"  Ecod!"  he  said.    "  I'd  like  to  have  it  out  with  him, 


THE    LORD    OF    THE    MANOR       105 

bare  fists  on  the  village  green.  He'd  see  how  much  he'd 
squeeze  out  of  us  bad  harvest  years  after  that." 

A  smooth  voice  interrupted  him.  They  turned  to  see 
Lord  Yerington  standing  in  their  midst,  smiling,  scented, 
immaculate. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  he  said,  addressing  the  man  who 
had  last  spoken,  "  I've  a  damned  bad  memory  for  faces, 
for  which  I  beg  your  pardon.  May  I  so  far  impose  upon 
your  good-nature  as  to  inquire  your  name  ?  " 

Every  man  had  risen  and  was  shuffling  upon  his  feet, 
'dabbing  at  his  forelock  shamefacedly,  exchanging  be- 
tween while  dismayed  glances  with  his  neighbour.  The 
young  man  whom  Lord  Yerington  addressed  began  to 
sweat  with  terror. 

"  My  name,  your  lordship,"  stammered  the  young 
bully  as  if  it  were  his  life  which  had  been  demanded  so 
carelessly,  "  my  name,  please  your  lordship,  is  Jonah — 
Jonah  Easton." 

"  Ah !  "  returned  Yerington,  "  I  recall  you  now,  Jonah. 
From  the  Hill  Farm,  I  think." 

"  The  same,  your  lordship,"  replied  Jonah,  wiping  his 
brow  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "  We've  been  tenants  of 
your  lordship's  family  for  nigh  three  hundred  years." 

The  lord  of  the  manor  approached  and  felt  his  biceps 
with  experienced  fingers. 

"  And  judging  from  your  muscles,"  he  said,  "  the  Hill 
Farm  has  nourished  you  well,  Jonah." 

A  slow  grin  was  beginning  to  steal  from  lip  to  lip  of 
the  ruddy-faced  farmers  in  the  tap-room.  Lord  Yering- 
ton embraced  them  all  in  a  genial  smile. 

"  It  would  seem  from  what  I  heard  upon  my  en- 
trance," he  said,  "  that  my  good  Jonah  here  would  like  to 
try  a  turn  with  me  upon  the  green.  I  am  altogether  at 
his  service.  Whatever  hour  falls  most  conveniently  with 


106  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Jonah's  occupations  will  be  agreeable  to  me.  My  present 
engagements  are  not  pressing." 

"  Oh,  please,  your  lordship,"  burst  out  Jonah,  "  I'd 
never  make  so  bold.  'Ods  bodikins,  but  your  lordship 
would  make  hay  of  me." 

Yerington  surveyed  him  a  moment  with  a  humorous 
glint  in  his  eyes. 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that,  Jonah,"  he  said.  "  You  are  very 
well  muscled.  If  at  any  time  you  feel  yourself  going  off 
let  me  recommend  milk  baths.  They  are  damned  refresh- 
ing, I  assure  you." 

A  stir  of  consternation  went  about  the  room,  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  Lord  Yerington  turned  and  made  a  noncha- 
lant exit. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  SEQUEL 

My  mind  is  troubled  like  a  fountain  stirred; 
And  I  myself  see  not  the  bottom  of  it. 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

LORD  YERINGTON  mounted  to  a  well-remembered  pan- 
elled room  on  the  second  floor.  Every  detail  of  it  was 
familiar  to  him.  The  bright  flowers  by  the  window  and 
the  fair  white  curtains  were  precisely  as  he  remembered 
them  as  a  boy.  He  went  to  a  mirror  and  contemplated 
himself.  He  was  not  a  conceited  man,  but  he  was  well 
aware  that  his  disarranged  hair,  his  soot-blackened  face 
and  his  torn  stockings,  had  scarcely  conduced  to  render 
him  a  romantic  figure  that  morning  in  Fleet  Street. 

He  was  telling  himself  that  the  Fates  were  fighting  for 
him.  He  had  no  reason  for  positive  assurance  as  he  came 
down  to  Oxholme  that  he  should  meet  Mrs.  Culpepper's 
niece — she  might  have  been  at  the  other  end  of  the  king- 
dom— yet,  as  he  passed  beneath  the  portico  of  the  inn, 
he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  face  gazing  down  at  him 
from  a  window,  the  sight  of  which  filled  him  with  smil- 
ing complacency. 

He  had  not  hastened  upward  for  reasons  of  his  own. 
The  women  of  his  world  had  been  won  with  an  ease 
that  had  taken  much  of  the  pleasure  from  the  quest.  He 
stood  now  upon  the  brink  of  thirty  years,  with  heart 
chipped  here  and  there  in  some  passing  affair,  but  which 
had  come  from  the  contacts  slightly  damaged  it  may  be, 
but  seeming  to  have  gained  in  power  of  resistance  in  the 
repeated  firings,  like  a  piece  of  much-baked  china.  Love- 
making  was  a  fine  art,  and  Lord  Yerington  had  lent  him- 

10T 


108  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

self  to  it  as  he  had  lent  himself  to  fencing,  boxing,  cock- 
fighting  and  dicing,  because  it  amused  him,  and  he  always 
played  the  game  like  a  gentleman.  Where  women  were 
concerned  he  was  frankly  cynical,  but  no  coxcomb.  He 
had  been  too  much  occupied  with  being  amused  to  give 
overmuch  thought  to  himself.  Therefore,  when  he  left 
the  blue  eyes  to  await  his  coming,  he  was  but  acting  his 
role  in  life  as  his  observations  had  taught  him  to.  Hs 
thought  a  little  waiting  would  be  a  marvellous  sauce 
plquante  even  to  an  interview  with  an  innkeeper's  niece. 

The  room  he  had  now  reached  was  the  one  in  which 
he  had  observed  her.  Though  it  was  empty,  a  faint  per- 
fume of  roses  still  lingered  about  it.  He  smiled  to  him- 
self as  he  noticed  it. 

Pie  pulled  the  bell-rope  dangling  beside  the  chimney, 
and  when  the  waiter  appeared,  he  demanded  Mrs.  Cul- 
pepper. 

"  Oh,  your  lordship,"  that  worthy  woman  began  al- 
most before  she  was  well  within  the  room,  "  'tis  a  sight 
for  sore  eyes  to  see  you  back  again.  Indeed  it  is,  my 
lord." 

"  Egad,  my  good  Mistress  Culpepper,"  he  returned, 
"  I'm  glad  to  be  back.  Faith,  it  seemed  to  me  I  counted 
four  more  geese  upon  the  village  green,  and  two  more 
asses  loose  upon  the  common.  The  land  fatteneth." 

Mrs.  Culpepper  was  in  an  agony  of  nervousness.  There 
were  two  spots  of  heightened  colour  upon  her  fair,  round 
face. 

"  You  are  pleased  to  laugh  at  us  here  in  the  country, 
my  lord,"  she  said.  "  Well,  we  are  rustic,  yet  your 
mother  loved  it." 

At  the  mention  of  his  unknown  mother  Yerington's 
face  softened  for  an  instant ;  but  the  mood  soon  passed. 

"  Upon  my  honour,  Mistress  Culpepper,  you  would  be 
formidable  did  you  but  lend  yourself  to  argument." 


THE    SEQUEL  109 

"La,  my  lord,  I  doubt  your  roasting  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Culpepper,  and  then  she  changed  to  another  subject  with 
uneasy  abruptness.  "  Now  can't  I  make  your  lordship  a 
loving-cup  to  welcome  you  back?  What  shall  it  be? 
Your  favourite  port  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  her  over  the  bridge  of  his  hand- 
some nose.  He  saw  that  she  was  hedging  against  his  next 
question,  and  he  felt  a  faint  impulse  of  pity  for  her  weak 
expedients. 

"  Later,  later,  Mistress  Culpepper,  and  I'll  drink  my 
welcome  home  with  a  good  heart,"  he  answered.  "  But 
now  for  that  pretty  niece  of  yours.  It  would  give  me 
much  pleasure  to  make  her  my  respects,  and  to  congratulate 
her  upon  her  recovery." 

Mrs.  Culpepper  knew  that  the  dreaded  moment  had 
arrived  and  that  evasion  was  useless.  She  read  it  in  the 
face  of  the  tall  young  man  whose  outward  appearance 
was  so  careless;  but  she  knew  the  Gowers,  and  she  knew 
all  the  determination  that  might  lurk  behind  just  such  a 
smile  as  Lord  Yerington  now  turned  upon  her.  With 
sudden  resolution  she  drew  herself  erect,  her  hands  clasp- 
ing one  another  over  her  speckless  pinner. 

"  My  lord,"  she  began,  "  my  husband  and  my  hus- 
band's father  and  his  great  grandsire  have  lived  beneath 
this  roof.  I  well  know  what  I  may  forfeit  if  I  cross  you. 
I  entreat  your  lordship,  I  beseech  you,  do  not  persist.  I 
cannot,  I  cannot  send  my  niece  to  you." 

Her  opposition  was  hardening  the  spoiled  beau,  and  the 
memory  of  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  was  dancing  more  allur- 
ingly than  ever  within  his  mind. 

"  I'll  not  devour  your  niece,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  I 
fear  Dame  Rumour  hath  been  dealing  hardly  with  me 
that  so  casual  a  request  should  put  you  in  such  a  tremor." 

"  You  may  ruin  us,  if  you  will,  my  lord,"  Mrs.  Cul- 
pepper ejaculated. 


110  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  But,  my  dear,  good,  kind,  worthy  Mistress  Culpep- 
per,"  he  interrupted,  "  do  be  a  sensible  woman  and  send 
your  niece  to  me." 

"  She's  not  here,"  cried  Mrs.  Culpepper,  her  gentle 
face  taking  on  a  look  of  resolve. 

"  Aha,"  cried  Lord  Yerington  laughingly,  "  if  I  didn't 
see  your  niece  in  that  window  when  I  came  in,  then  I'll 
eat  my  sword  and  scabbard." 

With  gentle  force  somebody  took  the  hostess  of  the 
Royal  Arms  by  her  shoulders,  and  a  face  surrounded  by 
a  lace  frill  above  which  set  a  hat  of  Tuscan  straw,  ap- 
peared behind  hers. 

"  You  see,  dear,  that  his  lordship  hath  seen  me.  Prithee 
permit  me  to  enter,  therefore,  and  inquire  his  lordship's 
pleasure." 

Mrs.  Culpepper  made  a  motion  of  dissent  an'd  dismay, 
but  the  girl  went  laughingly  past  her  and  swept  Lord 
Yerington  a  deep  curtsey,  in  which  there  was  more  of 
town  than  country.  He  would  have  been  a  coxcomb  in- 
deed had  he  read  much  in  her  manner  that  induced  to  his 
vanity.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  her  air  was  gay,  but  there 
was  a  vague  something  underlying  it  he  could  not  under- 
stand. Something  in  her  appearance  which  escaped  his 
masculine  power  of  analysis,  was  changed.  As  she  poised 
before  him  upon  her  red-heeled  shoes  she  did  so  with  an 
ease  as  different  as  was  that  pervading  hint  of  something 
in  her  'dress,  from  what  he  had  known  of  her  before,  and 
that  placed  her  aloof  from  that  frightened  girl  of  Fleet 
Street. 

He  but  marked  this  change  to  revel  in  it.  He  en- 
joyed her  appearance  as  much  as  he  did  Mrs.  Culpepper's 
dismay,  who  was  pushed  from  the  room,  protesting  still, 
amid  coaxing  little  whispers. 

"  And  now,  my  lord,"  said  the  girl  as  she  returned  and 


THE    SEQUEL  111 

stood  before  him,  "  what  may  be  your  gracious  lordship's 
pleasure  ?  " 

Yerington  leaned  back  at  his  ease  in  the  ingle-nook, 
smiling  in  mischievous  enjoyment  of  her  evident  high 
spirits.  Now  that  he  again  saw  her  in  her  heightened 
beauty  he  was  congratulating  himself  that  he  had  come. 
He  watched  her  as  she  stood,  her  graceful  head  upon  one 
side,  in^-an  attitude  of  questioning.  He  did  not  im- 
mediately reply.  With  genuine  relish  and  practised  ob- 
servation he  was  noting  each  freshened  charm.  He  had 
risen  when  she  came  in,  but  had  reseated  himself.  It  was 
not  necessary  to  stand  in  making  his  compliments  to  this 
innkeeper's  niece.  He  accepted  her  appearance  as  his  pre- 
rogative which  an  hysterical  woman's  flimsy  prejudices 
had  too  long  delayed. 

"  I  understood,"  said  the  girl  at  length,  "  that  your 
lordship  had  condescended  to  inquire  about  my  health." 

She  interrupted  the  silence  because  the  calm,  quizzical 
stare  of  the  gentleman  upon  the  settle  was  trying  her 
beyond  endurance.  She  was  no  finished  woman  of  the 
world  who  could  brazenly  ogle  in  return,  or  ignore  him, 
as  she  chose.  When  she  spoke,  he  was  once  more  struck 
by  her  curiously  magnetic  voice  and  its  intonations  that 
lingered  in  the  memory. 

"  Egad,"  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "  it  was  well 
worth  this  journey  from  town  to  follow  up  that  little 
episode,  and  to  put  Hugh  into  a  good  humour  into  the 
bargain." 

He  was  still  too  absorbed  in  studying  her  to  reply,  and 
so  she  herself  answered  her  own  query  with  a  spirited 
sparkle  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  humbly  thank  your  lordship  for  your  kindly  interest. 
Indeed,  but  for  much  discomposure  of  mind,  I've  suffered 
nothing.  Again,  I  thank  your  lordship,  and  I  shall  never 


A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

cease  to  be  grateful  to  you.  And  now,  have  you  no  com- 
mands? If  not,  I  humbly  ask  leave  to  withdraw." 

"  No,  child,"  he  answered,  rousing  himself.  "  Prithee, 
don't  withdraw." 

"  But  if,  as  it  seems,  I  cannot  serve  you,  my  lord  ?  "  she 
paused  interrogatively. 

"  But  you  can  serve  me,"  he  answered  with  a  trace 
of  haste,  dropping  his  quizzing-glass.  "  If  my  memory 
does  not  deceive  me,  the  Royal  Arms  offers  good  cheer." 

She  made  a  meek,  little  curtsey. 

"  Your  lordship  is  kind.  We  have  been  assured  by  the 
gentry  that  neither  our  kitchen  nor  our  cellar  is  alto- 
gether amiss,"  she  answered  with  a  trace  of  pride.  "  If 
your  lordship  will  but  honour  me  with  orders,  I'll  see 
that  they  are  executed  straight." 

"  Oh,  Lord,"  groaned  Yerington,  rising  tardily  to  his 
feet,  "  if  I  must,  I  must.  But  I  prithee,  pretty  wench, 
serve  me  thyself." 

A  laugh  danced  in  her  eyes. 

"La!"  she  protested,  "I  am  but  awkward  in  such 
matters.  Had  you  not  best  let  me  send  James  to 
you?" 

"  James  me  no  James,"  he  ejaculated,  "  and  attend  me 
after  your  own  fashion,  for  I'm  not  particular.  Now, 
what  about  a  boiled  fowl?  No,  egad,  not  that.  I  had 
over  many  fowls  during  my  journey  here.  Let  us  say 
rather  a  cutlet  grilled,  a  mutton  pie,  a  cold  duck  and  a 
jelly.  Best  do  well  by  the  house."  He  took  her  into  his 
confidence  with  a  smile.  "  Mayhap  you  yourself  might 
help  to  put  upon  it  a  respectable,  mangled  appearance  of 
appetite.  Truth  to  tell,  my  pretty  child,  I  have  break- 
fasted." 

"  Lud,  sir,"  she  answered,  with  another  curtsey,  "  and 
I  could  never  find  courage  to  join  your  lordship  at  table. 
La,  what  a  twitter  it  would  put  me  in." 


THE    SEQUEL  113 

'  'Tis  nothing,  'tis  nothing,"  he  answered.  "  Your 
rosy  fingers,  I'll  be  bound,  could  handle  a  fork  to  admira- 
tion, and  give  distinction  to  a  feast  for  kings." 

She  held  out  the  extolled  fingers  and  regarded  them 
with  an  appearance  of  pretty  fright. 

"  Nay,  your  lordship.  Sure,  they  would  be  all  thumbs. 
I  prithee,  spare  me.  We  are  not  particular,  do  you  but 
order  with  a  free  heart,  whether  the  viands  come  forth 
unmangled  or  no." 

"  Now  for  the  cellar,"  he  continued.  "  I  recall  that 
your  Burgundy  is  to  be  depended  on." 

"La,  your  lordship,"  she  answered;  "  I'd  scarce  dare 
praise  it  overmuch,  being  of  the  house  myself  as  it  were, 
but  it  doth  seem  as  if  the  county  squires  hereabout  got 
fair  advantage  from  it — after  a  time." 

He  laughed  heartily,  and  going  up  to  where  she  stood, 
chucked  her  under  the  chin  with  his  cane.  She  made  an 
involuntary  movement,  as  if  to  put  him  off,  then  checked 
herself  and  looked  back  at  him,  though  with  more  aloof- 
ness in  her  gaze.  He  now  could  see,  to  his  satisfaction, 
the  rare  dark  pencilling  in  her  eyes  beneath  their  shadow- 
ing lashes.  The  sight  gave  him  pleasure,  and  moved 
him  to  a  touch  of  fatherly  advice. 

"  Child,  I  prithee,  serve  me  thyself.  But  methinks 
you'd  best  leave  others  to  tend  these  Burgundy-inflated 
squires.  You  are  over  fair  to  play  Hebe  to  such  as  they, 
methinks." 

"  Your  lordship  flatters  me,"  she  said  with  one  of  her 
too  frequent  curtseys.  "  La,"  and  her  fingers  began  plait- 
ing a  design  in  her  pinner.  "  I've  never  attended  them 
in  all  my  life.  But  for  your  lordship's  kindness  I'd  not 
be  here  this  morning." 

Yerington  was  moved  to  disproportionate  elation  at  the 
thought. 

"  That  was  wiser,  little  maid,"  he  said. 


114  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  I'm  but  a  visitor  here,"  she  continued,  with  a  quaint 
touch  of  pride.  "  In  my  own  home  I  do  not  serve." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  idly  swinging  his  cane,  and 
enjoying  her  feminine  irrelevancies. 

"  And  what  do  you  do  in  your  own  home?  "  he  queried. 

"  I — I — brew,  and  I  work  cross-stitch,  and  I'm  a  very 
good  hand  at  simples." 

"  I  can  quite  believe  that,"  bending  nearer  with  a  touch 
of  insinuating  tenderness,  "  and  I  prithee  brew  no  charms 
in  them  to  make  men  madder  than  thy  beauty  warrants. 
And  now,  bring  all  I  order,  and  forget  not  the  Bur- 
gundy— and,  mind,  nobody  shall  attend  me,  save  thyself, 
at  the  cost  of  my  displeasure — on  all  the  house  of  Cul- 
pepper." 

"  I  heed  you,  I  heed  you,  my  lord,"  she  answered  in  a 
flutter.  "  No  one  else  shall  come,  I  promise  you." 

During  her  brief  absence  he  stood  looking  out  over  the 
red  geraniums  and  between  the  thin  white  curtains  upon 
the  green  below.  He  was  in  very  high  spirits.  The  af- 
fair was  opening  in  a  most  promising  fashion.  He  was 
not  sketching  out  any  plan  of  action.  Why  should  he? 
She  was  the  innkeeper's  niece  and  he  was  the  Earl  of  Yer- 
ington.  It  was  a  pleasing  sequel  to  a  well-remembered 
morning.  How  beautiful  she  was!  Such  a  figure,  such 
a  pretty,  shy  grace.  Egad,  he  was  glad  he  had  come. 
The  episode  bade  fair  to  divert  these  enforced  idle  weeks 
in  the  country  most  agreeably.  He  foresaw  that  Hugh 
Elliot  would  have  many  a  ride  alone.  He  had  no  de- 
sign against  the  Culpeppers,  nor  any  of  their  kind.  He 
was  just  idly  floating  along,  enjoying  the  moments  as  they 
came  to  him.  But  he  could  not  foresee  the  unprecedented 
force  this  girl's  personality  was  to  exercise  over  him. 
When  a  man  keeps  a  loose  hand  at  the  helm  he  cannot 
calculate  how  far  a  sudden,  chance  cross-current  may 
carry  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


No  age,  no  profession,  no  station  is  free; 
To  sov'reign  beauty  mankind  bends  the  knee! 
That  power  resistless!  no  strength  can  oppose — 
We  all  love  a  pretty  girl  under  the  rose. 

— OLD  BALLAD. 

THE  girl  returned  with  the  tray,  breathing  somewhat 
heavily  from  her  burden,  with  her  cheeks  flushed. 

Lord  Yerington  sprang  at  once  to  assist  her. 

"  No,  no,"  she  besought,  "go  away.  It  is  not  fitting, 
my  lord."  And  an  instant  later  she  was  setting  the  table. 
"  There  is  the  tablecloth  bleached  on  Oxholme  turf. 
Have  you  anything  to  equal  that  in  London  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  protest,"  he  answered,  but  his  eyes  were 
upon  her. 

She  saw  the  innuendo,  but  pretended  not  to  heed  it. 

"  There's  your  mutton  pie,"  she  went  on.  "  We  are 
famous  for  our  mutton  pies.  There's  your  cutlet,  fresh 
from  the  grill.  I  vow,  I  forgot  your  duck." 

"  Spare  us !  "  exclaimed  Yerington,  "  I'll  sleep  the  bet- 
ter without  it." 

"  There  is  your  jelly,  and  there  your  Burgundy." 

She  stood  off  with  her  head  on  one  side,  her  arms 
akimbo,  contemplating  her  accomplishment  with  pride. 

"  But  you've  brought  but  one  knife  and  fork,"  pro- 
tested Yerington. 

"  Oh,  lud,  your  lordship,  I  prithee  spare  me.  I  should 
be  in  such  a  state,  and  I  could  attend  better  to  your 
wants  upon  my  feet." 

"  If  you  will,"  he  answered,  assenting  because  he  really 
115 


116  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

liked  to  see  her  moving  about,  and  he  began  a  repast 
which  consisted  almost  wholly  of  the  much-patronised 
Burgundy. 

She  stood  watching  him. 

"  It  was  a  strange  chance,  my  lord,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  that  made  you  my  rescuer." 

"  Most  chances  are  strange,"  he  answered.  "  I'm 
thinking  it  was  a  strange  chance  that  made  you  the 
niece  of  Mistress  Culpepper." 

She  darted  a  quick  little  glance. 

"  She's  not  really  my  aunt,  you  know.  She's  my  fos- 
ter-mother." 

"  Really,"  he  replied  with  interest,  "  and  where  do  you 
live?" 

She  gave  her  arm  a  vague,  encompassing  wave. 

"  Over  there,  my  lord." 

"  In  a  neighbouring  village?  " 

"  Yes — near  a  neighbouring  village." 

"  And  your  father, — what  is  his  occupation  ?  "  asked 
Yerington,  after  he  had  drunk  off  a  deep  draught  of  the 
Burgundy. 

"  He  was  a  soldier,  my  lord." 

"  And  died  in  his  country's  service,  I  dare  venture?  " 

"  How  did  you  know  he  was  dead  ? "  she  asked, 
startled. 

"  I  but  inferred  it,"  he  answered.  He  leaned  luxuri- 
ously forward  over  the  table  and  studied  her.  She  was 
maddeningly  pretty. 

"  Prithee,"  he  said  condescendingly,  "  sit  here  beside 
me." 

She  hesitated  so  obviously  that  he  was  moved  to 
protest. 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  Mistress  Culpepper,"  he  said. 
"  This  chair  is  at  your  service,  and  I  command  you." 

She  came  and  seated  herself  near  him,  crossing  her  feet 


THE    PENALTY    OF    TRUTHFULNESS     117 

and  hands  primly,  and  glancing  at  him  occasionally  out 
of  the  tail  of  her  eye.  Something  in  her  attitude  di- 
verted him  greatly. 

"  Come,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  amused  speculation, 
"  what  did  you  think  when  you  discovered  who  I 
was?" 

The  prim  severity  of  her  attitude  relaxed  to  greater 
unconsciousness  at  this  question,  and  a  new  expression 
stole  into  her  face  that  mystified  him.  There  was  in 
it  a  mingling  of  greater  seriousness,  and  a.  deeper  intelli- 
gence. When  she  replied,  however,  her  words  were  non- 
committal, though  suggestive. 

"  I  but  thought,"  she  answered  slowly,  "  is  that  the 
Earl  of  Yerington?  I  never  dreamed  he  looked  so." 

Lord  Yerington  leaned  a  little  nearer  to  her,  his  curi- 
osity piqued.  She  was  drawing  him  on  by  an  indefinable 
claim  her  loveliness  made  upon  him.  He  had  known 
many  women,  beautiful  and  witty,  and  yet  this  girl  pos- 
sessed a  peculiar  charm  for  him. 

She  felt  his  increased  nearness  with  a  certain  sense  of 
discomfort,  but  she  determined  upon  a  bold  course,  and 
she  persisted  in  it.  Had  she  been  more  worldly-wise,  it 
is  probable  she  would  have  been  more  prudent. 

"  How  thought  you  I  looked?  "  he  questioned. 

Her  provoking  profile  was  alluring  him  dangerously, 
and  he  had  drunk  deeply  of  the  Burgundy.  What  is 
more,  he  had  a  loose  hand  upon  the  helm  of  his  inten- 
tions and  the  cross-current  of  a  sudden  impulse  was 
awaiting  him.  She  leaned  slightly  forward,  speaking  seri- 
ously as  she  answered : 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  that  you  would  look 
like  Squire  Charteris." 

Yerington  yielded  himself  to  unexpected  mirth.  The 
vision  of  his  hunting  neighbour  came  to  him, — of  his 
befuddled  gaze  and  empurpled  visage. 


118  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Like  Squire  Charteris,"  he  echoed,  "  with  his  face 
like  roast  beef  and  his  rattling  armament  of  oaths?  Hast 
ever  seen  him,  child,  the  morning  after  a  hunt?  " 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"But  why  like   Squire  Charteris?"  he  persisted. 

For  an  instant  she  hesitated.  The  piquante  charm  of 
her  manner  was  merged  beneath  a  serious  intention,  but 
the  hold  she  exercised  over  Yerington  was  none  the  less 
potent  because  of  that. 

"  I  thought  you  wrould  be  like  Squire  Charteris,"  she 
said,  picking  her  words  carefully,  and  he  could  not  guess 
that  her  heart  was  beating  madly  at  her  own  boldness, 
"  because  Squire  Charteris  drinks,  and  Squire  Charteris 
gambles,  and  throws  away  the  money  his  honest  tenants 
pay  him,  in  wanton  living." 

She  had  struck  clear  and  gone  deep,  but  the  conse- 
quences she  had  not  reckoned  on.  Lord  Yerington  had 
been  resisting  her  fascination  with  rare  self-control.  Her 
words  brushed  this  aside.  The  flame  of  his  anger  sprang 
up  and  with  it  his  ruthlessness.  He  was  a  man  of  his 
own  age  and  she  but  of  humble  birth  after  all.  Her 
words  sent  the  slight  restraints  he  had  established  against 
his  own  inclinations  hurling  down-stream.  In  an  in- 
stant he  had  sprung  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  dancing  dan- 
gerously. He  placed  a  hand  on  each  of  her  shoulders  and 
looked  down  into  her  frightened,  upturned  face. 

"  Be  careful,  my  girl,"  he  warned,  "  be  careful.  You 
deal  somewhat  over  generously  with  that  commodity  of 
frankness.  Keep  the  truth  for  your  enemies." 

As  he  looked  at  her  shrinking  from  him  her  attraction 
took  a  more  irresistible  hold  on  him. 

"  A  gambler,  am  I,  and  drunkard  and  a  rake?  Well, 
they'll  go  all  three  of  them  into  the  kiss  I'm  going  to 
give  you." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  in  which  she  struggled  madly, 


THE    PENALTY    OF    TRUTHFULNESS 

and  then  lay  so  inert  in  the  apathy  of  sheer  terror  that 
it  might  have  moved  him  to  mercy;  but  it  did  not,  for 
now  his  arm  was  tingling  with  the  soft  pressure  of  her 
waist.  She  contrived  to  twist  her  lips  away  from  him, 
but  he  pressed  an  ardent  kiss  upon  her  cheek.  She  broke 
from  him  and  stood  panting.  He  looked  at  her,  the  devil 
dancing  in  his  eyes.  He  was  prepared  for  an  outburst 
of  anger,  for  tears,  but  not  for  the  paroxysm  of  aversion 
he  read  in  her  face  as  she  tore  out  her  handkerchief 
and  rubbed  the  spot  where  he  had  kissed  her,  almost  until 
it  bled.  She  seemed  lifted  up  by  her  indignation  and, 
despite  her  recent  experience,  utterly  unafraid. 

"  Oh,  that  you  could  be  such  a  coward,  a  coward !  A 
brave  man  with  men,  but  with  a  woman — a  coward !  " 

His  breath  was  slightly  quickened  as  he  watched  her 
and  he  was  still  laughing,  but  with  something  akin  to 
bravado  now. 

"  Still  somewhat  over  free  with  the  truth,"  he  said 
lightly.  "  Such  luxuries  carry  their  punishments." 

She  turned  her  back  upon  him  with  an  exclamation, 
still  rubbing  her  cheeks.  He  watched  her,  utterly  im- 
penitent. 

Suddenly  she  began  to  sob  softly  to  herself. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  she  cried,  "  you've  made  this  debt  which 
I  still  bear  to  you  a  burden.  How  can  I  endure  it  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,  forget  it,"  he  answered.  "  That  kiss 
paid  for  it  all." 

She  faced  him  now,  her  eyes  flashing,  but  her  mien 
grown  quiet. 

"  My  lord,"  she  said,  "  had  I  been  your  equal  you 
would  not  have  treated  me  after  this  fashion." 

"  'Ods  life,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  would,  though  I 
might  have  gone  about  it  in  a  rather  different  way." 

"  I  did  not  cry  out,"  she  said,  "  because  it  would  bring 
Michael,  and  he  was  set  against  my  coming  here." 


120  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  And  so  they  warned  you  against  me  ?  "  said  Yering- 
ton,  seating  himself  nonchalantly  on  the  side  of  the  table, 
his  eyes  still  sparkling  as  he  looked  at  her. 

Her  sincere  dignity  was  appealing  to  the  best  of  him, 
and  he  was  fighting  it  back  with  the  worst  of  him.  As 
she  watched  him  her  courage  failed  her.  She  made  a 
sudden  dart  towards  the  door.  Yerington  reached  it 
before  her,  and  stood  barring  her  passage.  She  looked 
up  and  she  could  not  but  recognise  how  handsome  he 
was.  She  sank  her  spirit  to  appeal. 

"  I  entreat  you,  my  lord,  let  me  pass." 

"  Egad,  not  I,"  he  answered. 

She  wrung  her  hands. 

"  But  how  have  I  injured  you  that  you  should  treat 
me  in  this  fashion  ?  " 

"  Injured  me?  "  he  repeated,  leaning  forward.  "  Who 
is  to  reckon  the  injury  that  two  such  eyes  as  those  may 
do?  Who  is  to  calculate  the  harm  that  two  such  red 
lips  as  those  may  work?  Faith,  I  am  in  sad  case,  and 
methinks  you  owe  me  something  for  the  damage  you 
have  wrought." 

"  I  could  not  have  dreamed  of  such  cowardice — and 
then  to  mock  me.  Will  you  let  me  pass?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  promise  to  see  me  again,"  said  he 
promptly. 

"  See  you  again?     Never!"  she  ejaculated. 

"  Then,"  returned  Lord  Yerington  coolly,  placing  his 
back  against  the  door,  "  it  is  my  glad  yet  painful  duty 
to  continue  for  a  while  longer,  your  gaoler." 

"Why  do  you  use  me  so?"  she  demanded. 

"  Because,  damme,"  he  returned,  "  you  attract  me 
most  unaccountably,  and  I  am  in  no  mind  to  lose  sight 
of  you.  Your  rustic  beauty  hath  a  charm  that  the  city 
belles  have  lost.  Stab  me,  but  I'd  quite  forgot  that 
such  fresh  beauties  were  still  abloom,  and  methinks  any- 


where  they  are  rare.  I'd  almost  come  to  believe  there 
were  no  flowers  save  those,  bound  by  ribands,  upon  a 
lady's  staff.  The  country  begins  to  lure  me  vastly." 

"  Ah ! "  she  exclaimed  distressfully,  "  and  I  dare  not 
call  because  of  Michael." 

"  Michael  as  a  defender  of  assailed  innocence !  Egad, 
'tis  a  pretty  role.  I  envy  Michael." 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  a  hovering  sense  of  jealousy 
of  Michael. 

"  But,  my  lord,  let  me  pass,"  she  said  again. 

He  looked  down  at  her  and  his  face  was  growing 
serious  as  he  studied  hers.  His  absence  of  design  was 
embarrassing  him.  One  thing  only  he  knew  definitely — 
he  did  not  intend  this  glimpse  to  be  his  last  of  her.  At 
length  he  answered  deliberately: 

"  I  will  let  you  go  upon  one  condition.  That  still  is 
that  you  promise  that  I  shall  see  you  again." 

She  studied  him  in  her  turn.  Evidently  with  her, 
pledges  were  not  lightly  given.  Her  pure  eyes  were  un- 
troubled and  she  was  deep  in  thought. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  at  length,  "  I  will  see  you  again, 
and  possibly  again.  I'll  remember  you  as  you  were  that 
day.  Surely  once  more  I  may  look  at  you  with  confi- 
dence and  pride." 

For  a  moment  longer  he  hesitated,  for  he  was  loath 
to  end  the  interview.  Then  he  opened  the  door  with  a 
low  bow. 

"  You  have  your  freedom,  madam." 

She  gave  a  little  relieved  cry  and  went  past  him, 
half  shrinking  as  she  did  so,  into  the  hall  without.  Her 
eyes  were  still  fixed  on  his  as  she  passed  down  it  and 
vanished. 

He  shut  the  door  and  leaned  back  against  it. 

"  Ah ! "  he  exclaimed.  And  then  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  recklessly.  "  There  are  some  disadvantages 


122  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

in  just  waiting  for  life's  chances.  One  would  like 
sometimes  to  have  a  guess  at  the  road." 

A  moment  longer  he  stood  in  reflection. 

"  Damme,"  he  said  aloud,  "  I  thought  such  eyes  were 
out  of  date." 


CHAPTER   XV 

MISTRESS   MARJORIE 

The  tidal  wave  of  deeper  souls 
Unto  our  inmost  being  rolls 
And   lifts  us  unaware. 

— LONGFELLOW. 

THE  game  laws  were  not  so  stringent  at  that  time  as 
they  are  at  present.  Every  morning  Captain  Elliot  took 
his  fowling-piece  under  his  arm  and  started  off  for  a 
day's  shoot  with  a  gamekeeper,  old  Galbraith,  a  coun- 
tryman of  his  own.  He  enjoyed  the  sport  heartily  and 
came  back  in  the  evening  in  high  spirits,  to  smoke  many 
pipes  over  the  punch  before  he  retired  to  bed.  Yerington 
seldom  accompanied  him,  but  he  made  no  complaint.  The 
latter  gentleman  was  much  occupied  at  the  time  in 
garnering  a  harvest  of  disappointments.  Self-analysis 
was  a  habit  in  which  he  did  not  indulge.  Therefore,  he 
deliberately  refused  to  name  to  himself  the  reason  of  his 
persistent  haunting  of  the  Royal  Arms  at  Oxholme,  nor 
the  secret  of  his  varying  moods,  which  alternated  between 
a  sort  of  bravoish  hilarity  and  something  akin  to  glum- 
ness.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  glumness,  nor  to  dis- 
appointment, and  his  own  sensations  were  a  puzzle  to 
him.  It  was  obviously  absurd  to  trace  any  pursuing  con- 
sciousness of  discontent  in  himself,  the  spoiled  dandy  of 
the  London  boudoirs,  to  his  failure  to  catch  another 
glimpse  of  the  heroine  of  Fleet  Street. 

It  may  be  that  this  consideration  exaggerated  the  airy 
indifference  of  his  manner  when  he  came  across  her  un- 
expectedly one  morning,  turning  a  sharp  corner  by  a 
sweetbriar  hedge.  The  dew  was  still  upon  the  grass, 

123 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

and  it  was  not  Lord  Yerington's  habit  to  go  forth  when 
the  dew  was  on  the  grass.  But  within  the  last  few  days 
he  had  somehow  acquired  it. 

The  girl  was  carrying  a  basket  upon  her  arm,  and 
when  she  saw  him  she  made  an  involuntary  movement  of 
timidity.  The  next  instant  she  conquered  this  impulse, 
and  looked  at  him  with  a  calm  little  greeting  smile. 

"Good  morrow,  Aurora!"  said  Lord  Yerington, 
sweeping  off  his  hat.  "  You  look  purely  this  morning." 

"  If  you  please,  my  lord,"  she  answered,  "  my  name  is 
Mistress  Marjorie." 

He  kept  his  hat  beneath  his  arm  as  he  sauntered  along 
beside  her.  If  he  felt  any  discomfort  at  the  recollection 
of  their  last  meeting,  it  only  served  to  put  into  his  man- 
ner an  added  shade  of  frivolous  jauntiness.  He  could 
perceive  that  she  shrank  as  she  walked  close  against  the 
hedge,  in  an  instinctive  desire  to  avoid  him,  that  she  was 
too  proud  to  betray  openly,  and  occasionally  a  straying 
branch  of  the  wild  briar,  moist  with  dew,  struck  across 
her  cheek,  or  tangled  in  her  curls.  There  was  lurking 
mischief  in  his  eye  as  he  observed  this. 

"  Mistress  Marjorie,"  he  repeated ;  "  I  protest  'tis  a 
pretty  name.  It  likes  me  well.  But  still  are  you  Aurora, 
for  where  you  are  is  it  not  always  morning?  " 

There  was  a  little  twitch  in  her  mouth.  For  an  in- 
stant it  crossed  his  mind  that  his  elaborate  manner,  and 
his  fine  compliment  were  amusing  her.  He  took  refuge 
from  that  thought  in  the  practical. 

"  Prithee,  pretty  Mistress  Marjorie,  what  do  you  carry 
in  your  basket?  " 

She  regarded  him  with  sudden  gravity. 

"  Nothiqg  that  would  in  the  least  interest  you,  Lord 
Yerington." 

This  reply  annoyed  him.  She  was  beginning  to  have 
the  power  to  annoy  him,  and  he  was  not  easily  ruffled. 


MISTRESS    MARJORIE 

"  How  do  you  know  whether  it  would  interest  me  ?  " 
he  queried. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  with  a  little  spirited  cock 
of  her  chin,  "  your  lordship  has  nothing  in  common  with 
the  shadow-side  of  life  nor  with  its  commonplaces.  And, 
forsooth,  my  basket  is  filled  with  commonplaces  and  alto- 
gether unworthy  of  your  lordship's  notice." 

Her  persistence  urged  him  further. 

"  Do  you  refuse  to  name  its  contents  to  me,  then  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied,  with  an  exaggerated  air  of 
indifference,  that  set  him  and  his  curiosity  upon  one  side. 
"  I  have  in  it  a  glass  of  calves-foot  jelly  for  John  Sim- 
mons' wife.  John  Simmons  is  a  commonplace  tenant  of 
your  own,  and  his  wife  a  thin,  yellow-faced,  red-haired 
woman,  who  could  possess  no  slightest  interest  to  you, 
my  lord." 

Her  insistence  vaguely  irritated  him,  but  he  did  not 
contradict  her. 

"  And  what  else  do  you  carry  besides  the  jelly  for  the 
red-headed  woman  ?  " 

"  Flannel  and  liniment  for  Hester  Newton's  rheuma- 
tism. You  may  recall  Hester  Newton,  my  lord."  She 
gave  him  a  look  that  forbade  him  to  dissemble.  He  felt 
no  inclination  to  do  so. 

"  Hester  Newton  ?  "  he  answered  heartily.  "  Of  course 
I  do.  A  comely  creature,  I  remember,  who  was  long 
housemaid  at  the  Castle." 

"  Until  rheumatism  crippled  her,"  she  said,  "  and  now 
she's  no  longer  comely.  No,  she  could  have  no  slightest 
interest  for  your  lordship." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  her  misfortune,"  said  Yer- 
ington,  his  ready  sympathy  aroused. 

"  The  next,"  she  went  on,  as  if  he  had  not  spoken, 
"  is  food, — food  for  John  Wilson's  family." 


126  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  For  John  Wilson!  "  he  exclaimed,  honestly  shocked. 
"Would  you  tell  me  that  John  Wilson  and  his  family 
are  actually  in  need  of  food  ?  " 

She  walked  along  serenely.  Her  profile  was  as  clear 
cut  as  a  cameo  against  the  dark  of  the  hedge. 

"  He's  not  old  enough  for  the  almshouse,"  she  an- 
swered ;  "  and  the  children  are  to  be  considered.  What 
would  they  do  ?  " 

"  But  I  can't  understand,"  he  exclaimed.  "  For  years 
John  Wilson  has  had  Meadow  Farm.  'Tis  a  very  fair 
piece  of  land,  the  cottage  is  good.  Now,  why  this  talk 
of  food?" 

"  I  suppose  it  is  natural,  your  lordship,"  she  answered, 
"  that  it  would  never  occur  to  you  that  in  any  corner  of 
the  world  there  might  be  a  lack  of  it." 

"  I  prithee,  credit  me  with  some  imagination,"  he 
retorted,  a  furrow  appearing  in  his  brow,  as  with  his 
riding-whip  he  viciously  snicked  off  the  head  of  a  daisy. 

"  Ah,  then,"  she  answered,  "  your  lordship's  imagina- 
tion, like  a  well-trained  steed,  chooses  but  to  amble  in 
agreeable  pastures.  It  may  not  have  occurred  to  your 
lordship,  that  three  bad  harvest  years  in  succession,  and 
the  high  rent  he  must  pay  for  his  farm,  if  he  would  not 
lose  it  altogether,  and  so  leave  his  children  without  a 
roof  to  shelter  them,  and  himself  a  means  of  livelihood 
if  affairs  turned  better,  might  reduce  John  Wilson 
to  something  near  starvation.  One  thing  he  knows, 
and  that  is  that  he  can  expect  no  reduction  on  his 
rent." 

"By  heavens!"  exclaimed  Yerington,  in  an  outburst 
of  feeling.  "Why  have  I  not  been  told  of  this?  I  am 
not  a  Shylock!" 

He  was  so  disturbed  that  he  quickened  his  pace,  and 
strode  on  for  some  yards  without  heeding  her. 

"Why,  it  is  abominable!"  he  cried.     "Shameful!     I 


MISTRESS    MARJORIE  127 

had  not  heard  of  this.  My  tenants  oppressed,  and  starv- 
ing, while  I "  He  broke  off  abruptly. 

As  she  listened  her  face  changed.  A  glad  smile  trem- 
bled about  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes,  which  grew  wonder- 
fully soft;  but  nothing  of  this  appeared  in  her  manner 
to  her  companion  when  she  spoke  again. 

"  Yet  these  things,"  she  went  on,  "  underlie  your 
people's  hatred  of  you." 

The  thrust  went  too  deep.  He  turned  round  towards 
her,  aglow  with  anger. 

"  I  protest  you  employ  great  freedom  of  tongue,"  he 
said.  "  My  people  hate  me  ?  How  know  you  that  they 
hate  me  ?  " 

She  was  a  little  frightened  at  his  manner,  but  she  held 
her  ground  bravely. 

"  Sure,  'tis  scarce  my  affair,  my  lord,  for  they  are  not 
of  my  parish,  but  in  matters  of  charity  methinks  'twas 
as  poor  a  thing  to  narrow  one's  ministrations  by  geog- 
raphy as  one's  sympathies  by  a  creed.  These  people  of 
yours  are  suffering.  I  am  much  among  them.  I  help 
them  as  best  I  can,  but  I  scarce  can  offset  an  absent  and 
indifferent  lord  of  the  manor." 

The  words  were  a  challenge,  though  her  air  was  sweet 
and  unaggressive.  They  displayed  an  insight  beyond  her 
years,  and  were  a  contradiction,  in  their  earnestness,  to  her 
youthful  face. 

"But  how  comes  this  about?"  protested  Yerington. 
"  I  have  never  wished  my  people  to  be  pressed.  There 
was  no  need." 

"  You  can  scarce  persuade  them  of  that,"  she  added 
with  a  touch  of  wistfulness,  "  for  rumours  of  your  lord- 
ship's deep  play  and — and "  she  hesitated,  "  your 

extravagances  often  reach  Oxholme  Village.  Perchance 
your  lordship  may  recall  your  steward,  Mr.  Walter's 
face." 


128  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

A  flash  of  illumination  came  to  him. 

"  'Fore  George ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  do.  A  brute,  if 
there  ever  was  one.  How  could  I  have  so  forgot !  " 

He  was  genuinely  distressed.  The  man  had  been 
recommended  to  him  by  Mansur,  and  he  had  thought- 
lessly accepted  him,  without  further  consideration. 

"  You  can  scarce  expect  such  an  one,"  the  girl  said 
softly,  "  to  make  the  lives  of  your  people  easier." 

She  soon  after  terminated  the  interview,  with  a  reso- 
lution that  piqued  Lord  Yerington  into  an  affectedly  in- 
different farewell. 

His  walk  back  to  the  Castle  was  troubled  and  full  of 
reflection.  He  was  wounded  in  his  heart,  in  his  pride, 
in  his  sense  of  loyalty  to  those  dependent  upon  his  con- 
sideration. 

The  next  morning  he  had  a  stormy  interview  with 
Mr.  Walters,  at  the  end  of  which  the  stewardship  of 
the  Oxholme  estate  was  vacant. 

That  evening  he  consulted  Elliot,  with  a  seriousness 
that  delighted  that  gentleman,  and  took  his  advice  as  to 
a  successor,  with  results  that  soon  established  a  new 
condition  of  affairs  among  his  tenants. 

Captain  Elliot,  poor  blind  man,  who  had  been  devoutly 
praying  for  a  good  woman's  influence  in  Lord  Yerington's 
life,  took  the  change  to  himself,  and  went  about  for  days, 
puffed  up  by  an  entirely  groundless  self-complacency. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

MASTER    CUPID 

Only  love  makes  live. 

Oh,  why  was  woman  made  so  fair? 

—P.  J.  BAILEY. 

LORD  YERINGTON'S  sensations  during  the  next  few  days 
can  be  best  described  by  successive  stages. 

After  he  had  established  his  new  steward,  stage  one: 
This  was  represented  by  a  period  during  which  he  went 
much  among  his  tenants  and  learned  many  disagreeable 
truths.  He  resolutely  occupied  himself  about  the  estate  to 
the  no  slight  satisfaction  of  Captain  Elliot,  who  thought 
he  saw  in  his  friend  decided  indications  of  reclamation. 
Three  days  passed  without  his  having  seen  Marjorie. 
Then  he  became  restless.  Next,  he  met  her  for  a  few 
moments  near  the  old  Saxon  mill  upon  the  Severn.  Their 
interview  was  brief,  but  long  enough  to  reveal  to  him  new 
phases  of  her  character — a  puzzling  gaiety,  a  charming 
gift  of  mimicry,  which  had  in  it  a  child's  bubbling  light- 
heartedness,  but  no  trace  of  mockery,  and  a  capacity  for  a 
kaleidoscopic  change  of  moods  that  left  him  unsatisfied 
with  her,  with  himself  and  with  existence  generally. 

Stage  two:  He  ceased  to  go  about  the  estate,  again 
left  Captain  Elliot  to  his  own  devices,  and  devoted  him- 
self to  a  former  enthusiasm.  There  had  come  a  spell  of 
showery  weather,  and  he  shut  himself  up  in  the  library 
and  turned  out  pages  of  very  creditable  Latin  verse. 
Patriotism,  friendship,  the  Via  Sacra  during  a  triumphal 
procession  of  Julius  Caesar,  a  dawn  upon  the  Alps,  all 
these  aspiring  themes  held  his  mind  for  several  successive, 
industrious  days.  At  the  end  of  this  scholarly  seclusion,  he 

199 


130  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

discovered,  to  his  profound  surprise,  that  his  Latin  verses 
had  been  pushed  carelessly  aside — friendship,  Caesar,  and 
the  Alps  being  alike  forgotten,  and  that  an  eager  pen  was 
rhyming  with  enthusiasm  down  pages  in  which  the  name 
of  Marjorie  appeared  and  reappeared. 

"  The  devil  take  me !  "  he  exclaimed  aloud  in  chagrin. 
"  Here  I  am,  like  a  fool,  stringing  rapturous  adjectives  in 
praise  of  a  saucy  little  baggage  who  laughed  at  me  dis- 
tinctly last  time  I  met  her,  '  with  a  fling  of  soft  laughter 
to  tangle  my  heart,'  '  A  mesh  of  gold  sun-flecks  in  her 
dancing  curls.'  Dancing  curls!  What  an  expression! 
It  sounds  like  a  wire-haired  doll  at  a  fair.  Harry,  you 
need  exercise." 

He  took  this  exercise,  riding  far  and  hard,  and  return- 
ing much  sunburnt,  with  a  sharpened  appetite  for  his 
dinner. 

Stage  three:  He  divided  his  time  between  the  Royal 
Arms  and  the  Saxon  mill  upon  the  Severn.  Marjorie 
kept  out  of  sight  until  an  incident  forced  her  hand.  Lord 
Yerington  was  lounging  along  the  shining  stretches  of 
the  river  upon  his  left,  with  his  favourite  boar  hound, 
Thor,  at  his  heels.  Thor  was  a  large-natured  dog 
generally,  but  if  provoked  too  far  he  was  liable  to 
violent,  if  rapidly  passing,  outbursts  of  temper.  A  self- 
confident  spaniel  had  been  biting  at  his  heels  for  some 
moments  and  had  been  ignored  in  kingly  fashion.  He 
imposed  too  far  upon  Thor's  patience,  who  turned  sud- 
denly and  snapped  at  the  pertinacious  animal.  The 
little  creature  gave  a  howl  of  pain,  and  one  of  its  legs 
hung  broken  and  useless.  The  next  moment  it  had  fallen 
from  the  bank,  and  was  whirling,  rendered  helpless  by 
its  maimed  leg,  toward  the  weir. 

Without  hesitation,  Lord  Yerington  plunged  in  after 
it.  He  was  soon  'breast-high  in  the  glassy  tide  and  keep- 
ing his  feet  with  difficulty.  He  grasped  the  yelping  little 


MASTER    CUPID  181 

animal  as  it  eddied  round  on  the  lip  of  the  foaming  spill. 
His  rescue  had  been  spontaneous,  and  he  had  had  no 
thought  beyond  the  impulse  to  succour  the  dog.  But, 
when  he  reached  the  bank  and  discovered  Marjorie  there, 
wringing  her  hands  at  the  plight  of  her  pet,  his  eyes 
lighted  up.  He  felt  a  certain  elation  that  it  was  in  her 
cause  that  he  had  played  good  Samaritan. 

Together  they  took  it  to  the  mill  and  laid  it  tenderly 
upon  a  pile  of  sacks.  They  put  splints  upon  the  injured 
leg,  utilising  their  combined  knowledge  in  such  matters. 

When  Marjorie  had  entered,  she  had  said  a  few  words 
to  the  miller  aside,  who  in  turn  whispered  them  to  his 
apprentices,  and  Lord  Yerington  and  she  were  left  to 
themselves.  In  their  ministrations,  their  hands  touched 
more  than  once.  Of  this  Marjorie  was  unconscious,  as, 
with  her  face  tenderly  absorbed,  she  bent  over  her  pet. 
Not  so,  Lord  Yerington. 

We  may  call  the  next  few  days,  stage  four.  Marjorie 
and  Lord  Yerington  met  often  at  the  mill.  There, 
where  the  wheel  roared,  the  waters  rushed  and  the 
powdery  motes  dusked  the  air,  their  acquaintance  pro- 
gressed rapidly.  The  dog  required  much  nursing.  Over 
its  curly  head,  Lord  Yerington's  education  continued. 
He  saw  Marjorie  in  many  phases.  He  caught  glimpses 
of  rare  intelligence  and  insight,  linked  to  childish  irrel- 
evancies  that  filled  him  with  delight.  He  saw  her  re- 
freshing enthusiasms,  her  ardent  belief  in  good,  her  pen- 
sive flights  of  poetic  feeling ;  and  her  dancing,  impish 
perversity  and  unexpectednesses  kept  him  continually 
amused  and  pleasantly  apprehensive  of  where  he  should 
stand  within  her  graces  in  the  following  moment.  In 
short,  this  spoiled  beau  of  White's  was  being  put  severely 
through  his  paces  by  a  girl  whose  only  knowledge  of  the 
tactics  for  his  training  came  to  her  direct  from  mother 
Eve. 


132  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

All  was  going  admirably,  when  Lord  Yerington  one 
morning  stubbed  his  toes  unexpectedly  on  stage  five. 

He  called  at  the  mill  and  Coco,  the  dog,  had  vanished. 
As  he  stood  gazing  at  the  deserted  pile  of  sacks,  upon 
which  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  see  Coco,  he  felt 
something  akin  to  consternation. 

The  miller  appeared  and  touched  his  forelock. 

"  Her — leastwhiles  Mistress  Marjorie,  has  took  the 
little  creature  home.  She  said  he  was  doing  monstrous 
fine,  my  lord,  and  that  now  she  could  tend  him  herself." 

The  cold  ungraciousness  of  this  dismissal,  unbroken  by 
any,  save  the  most  terse  and  perfunctory  message  to  him, 
stung  Yerington.  As  he  stood  nonplussed,  he  thought 
he  saw  the  miller  grin.  This  recalled  him. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  he  answered,  with  a  touch  of 
deliberate  condescension,  to  put  the  fellow  in  his  place; 
"  he  hath  mended  most  marvellously.  Methinks  for 
surgery,  I  outrival  the  village  barber." 

He  turned  and  sauntered  from  the  mill  into  the  sun- 
shine. He  passed  over  the  bridge  spanning  the  weir,  and 
at  length  paused  beneath  the  willows  on  the  other  bank. 
More  than  once,  as  he  went,  he  said  absently  aloud: 

"  Yes,  'twas  natural,  sure  'twas  natural." 

Then  he  stopped  with  a  smothered  oath.  Here  he  was 
like  a  gaby,  still  posing  for  the  miller  he  had  left  upon 
the  other  side.  He  had  grown  acutely  conscious  of  a 
suppressed  amusement  amongst  the  men  at  the  mill,  which 
had  been  respectfully  hushed  at  his  approach.  It  had 
annoyed  him.  He  had  tried  unsuccessfully  to  eliminate 
them  and  their  obvious  interest  in  his  affairs  from  his 
consciousness.  Things  had  come  to  a  pretty  pass,  when 
he  found  himself  posing  and  still  muttering  like,  what 
Hugh  would  term,  an  "  innocent,"  for  a  set  of  floury 
millers. 

"  I  protest,"  he  thought,  "  what  a  figure  I  go." 


MASTER    CUPID  133 

He  seated  himself  upon  a  log  and  began  to  throw 
chips  into  the  water,  watching  them  float  away  and  dance 
down  the  stream. 

"  My  man,"  he  said  severely  to  himself,  "  methinks  'tis 
time  you  went  back  to  town.  Faith,  what  equals  the 
park  of  a  morning  and  hazard  of  an  evening.  'Tis  worth 
all  the  silly  country  maunderings  a  simpleton  ever  dallie'd 
over.  Egad,  shake  yourself  together.  To-morrow,  you 
go  back  to  town." 

A  spot  of  bright  colour  across  the  river  attracted  his 
attention,  and  a  light  strain  of  song  reached  his  ears.  It 
was  a  girl  in  a  pink  gown,  loitering  along  in  an  airy, 
aimless  way.  Her  every  motion  suddenly  became  of 
transcendent  importance  to  him.  She  paused,  picking  a 
flower  here  and  there.  She  reached  the  bridge,  and 
hesitated  a  moment  before  she  made  up  her  mind  to  cross 
it.  Midway  she  stopped  and,  leaning  over,  gazed  with 
transfixed  interest  at  the  waters  boiling  past  below. 

Lord  Yerington  began  to  grow  irritable  as  he  watched 
her.  She  was  so  light-hearted,  so  perversely  unconscious 
of  the  slight  she  had  put  upon  him  that  morning,  in 
withdrawing  her  dog  from  his  protection,  without  the 
courtesy  of  an  explanation.  One  thing  at  least  he  owed 
himself,  and  that  was  that  he  should  entirely  ignore  the 
circumstance. 

She  continued  her  walk  and  started,  as  she  saw  him 
glowering  at  her  from  the  log. 

"La,  my  lord,  is  that  you?  I  protest,  what  a  fright 
you  gave  me !  " 

He  knew  that  he  was  absurdly  glad  to  see  her,  so  glad 
that  his  heart  gave  a  bound,  and  that  certain  discords  he 
had  been  conscious  of  within  him  relaxed  and  began  to 
swing  in  rhythm  with  her  presence.  He  regarded  her 
with  dissatisfaction,  and  did  not  begin  the  conversation 
with  his  usual  courtly  bow  and  compliment. 


134  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Why  did  you  take  Coco  home?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  lord,"  she  answered,  "  he  was  doing  well,  and 
methought  that  there  I  could  attend  him  better." 

"  Mayhap,"  he  retorted,  "  but  'twas  scarce  courtesy  to 
remove  him  without  a  syllable  to  your  fellow-surgeon." 

He  read  hypocrisy  in  every  line  of  her  penitent  face. 

"  I  did  not  know  your  lordship  would  deign  to  be 
troubled  about  him,"  she  replied  meekly. 

"  Troubled  about  him,"  he  echoed,  "  what  have  I  been 
doing  if  I've  not  been  troubling  about  him  for  this  week 
past?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  beseechingly. 

"  True,  my  lord,  you  have  been  most  kind.  I  humbly 
beg  your  lordship's  pardon,  but  I  did  not  presume  to 
think " 

He  was  standing,  and  he  now  bent  forward  and  looked 
into  her  face. 

"You  little  witch,"  he  said,  a  light  in  his  eyes  that 
frightened  her,  for  she  had  not  seen  it  there  since  the 
morning  she  had  met  him  in  the  panelled  room  at  the 
Royal  Arms ;  "  you  are  roasting  me,  and  I  know  it 
well." 

She  edged  a  little  further  away  from  him. 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  it  is  not  so.  For  who  knows  better 
than  I  that  'twas  your  kindness  to  Coco  brought  you  often 
to  the  mill." 

He  was  angry  with  himself,  straining  at  the  bonds  he 
was  beginning  to  recognise  and  would  not  name,  con- 
scious of  the  untenable  position  into  which  he  had 
stumbled.  This  girl  was  pure,  was  unassailable.  He 
had  begun  to  treasure  the  thought  of  that  purity,  and 
to  exalt  it.  Here  he  was  with  this  daughter  of  Eve,  as 
enticing  as  the  most  accomplished  town  coquette,  winning 
him  by  a  thousand  charms  and  holding  him  by  her  unap- 
proachability.  The  position  could  not  last.  He  would 


MASTER    CUPID  135 

end  it.  He  would  be  glad  to  end  it.  He  had  distinctly 
seen  the  millers  grinning,  the  yokels!  Well  they  might 
grin.  Here  was  a  little  wench,  whose  name  he  did  not 
know  in  full,  the  daughter  of  a  common  soldier,  or  at  best 
of  a  sergeant.  If  she  had  been,  well,  what  she  was  not, 
his  position  would  have  been  explainable.  As  it  was,  he 
looked  an  egregious  ass.  He  would  end  it.  He  was  off 
to  town.  What  an  absurdity  it  was  that  he,  the  Earl 
of  Yerington,  should  be  making  concessions  to  this  blue- 
eyed  minx,  glad  at  her  smiles  and  dashed  at  her  dis- 
pleasure. Yet  even  in  the  rush  of  his  vexation,  he  knew 
that  he  valued  her  simplicity,  her  truthfulness,  her  aloof- 
ness from  his  world  as  he  valued  nothing  else  in  life. 
He  looked  at  her  again,  and  as  her  beauty  and  something 
in  her  personality  took  hold  upon  him,  he  said  to  himself 
in  defiance: 

"Egad,  for  a  night  at  White's!  To-morrow  I  leave 
for  town." 

Marjorie  began  to  speak. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  vexed  you,  my  lord,"  she  said  tremu- 
lously, "  for  I  have  come  to  say  good-bye." 

"Good-bye?  "  he  echoed. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"'  she  answered,  plaiting  and  unplaiting 
a  fold  in  her  white  pinner,  with  nervous  fingers. 

"  'Tis  ridiculous,"  he  ejaculated.  "  I  can't  hear  of  it 
for  a  moment." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  But  alas,  my  lord,  'tis  so.  After  to-day  you  will  see 
Mistress  Marjorie  no  more." 

"  My  dear  little  maid,"  he  answered  firmly,  "  I  mis- 
like  to  appear  discourteous,  but  your  words  sound  like  a 
death-bed  speech.  Am  I  wrong  in  inferring  that  you  are 
meditating  finalities?" 

She  gave  a  little  choke  of  laughter,  which  especially 
annoyed  him  after  her  recent  words. 


136  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"What  are  finalities?"  she  asked,  lifting  her  eyes  with 
a  great  appearance  of  innocence. 

"  Finalities,"  he  answered,  watching  her  narrowly, 
"  are  death  and  matrimony." 

"  La,  my  lord,  I  hope  I  shall  not  die  yet,  and  as  for 
matrimony,  nobody  would  want  me." 

"  Mistress  Marjorie,"  he  responded  sternly,  "  above  all 
other  qualities  in  you  I  have  ever  admired  your  simple, 
direct  honesty.  At  this  moment  you  are  acting,  pardon 
my  frankness,  like  a  deceitful  little  kitten.  You  know 
well,  worse  luck,  that  many  men  will  want  you." 

"  Oh,  my  lord,"  she  murmured. 

He  was  in  a  towering  ill-humour. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I,  a  man  like  me,  would  go  about 
wasting  his  time,  nursing  the  dog  of  a  woman  that  no 
man  would  want  ?  " 

"  You've  been  very  kind  to  Coco,"  she  said  softly,  still 
plaiting  her  apron. 

She  was  digging  a  hole  in  the  loose,  brown  earth  with 
the  toe  of  her  little  shoe. 

A  mood  of  bitter  frankness  was  upon  him. 

"  Mistress  Marjorie,  I've  not  been  kind  to  Coco.  I've 
been  kind  to  myself,  and  you  know  it."  He  drew  a  step 
nearer  to  her.  "  And  I  ask  you,  after  what  happened  at 
the  inn,  are  you  not  afraid  to  be  here  alone  with  a  rake 
like  me?" 

Her  manner  changed.  Her  little  hypocrisies  vanished. 
She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  with  the  sweet  direct 
dignity  he  had  grown  to  respect. 

"  No,  my  lord,"  she  answered.  "  I  know  you  better 
than  you  know  yourself.  I  knew  you'd  only  have  to 
understand  to  have  reawakened  in  you  some  of  the  faith 
that  the  town  had  smothered,  and  neither  I  nor  any  girl 
need  fear  you." 

His  face  grew  grave  and  soft. 


MASTER    CUPID  137 

"  But  you  are  a  brave  little  woman,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  alight,  "  only  a  believ- 
ing one." 

For  a  few  moments  they  were  both  silent,  watching  the 
waters  whirling  toward  the  weir.  Then  again  he  turned 
to  her. 

"  And  what  of  those  foolish  words  you  dropped  about 
good-bye?  " 

"  It  is  good-bye,  my  lord,"  she  answered  gravely. 

"  But  we  have  become  very  good  friends,  you  and  I, 
Mistress  Marjorie." 

"  Your  lordship  is  pleased  to  be  most  kind,"  she  an- 
swered almost  inaudibly. 

"  But  don't  you  think  this  talk  of  good-bye  is  a  little 
needless?"  he  persisted. 

He  had  said  to  Lady  Caroline,  "  A  man  of  my  reputa- 
tion cannot  be  a  friend  to  a  lady  so  fair  as  yourself." 
But  how  grotesquely  different  was  that  situation  from  this 
one!  Mistress  Marjorie  was  but  a  little  country  wench, 
and,  indeed,  she  seemed  curiously  unprotected  even  for  a 
girl  in  her  humble  position.  This  case  was  not  the 
same. 

"  I  suppose  to  you,"  he  went  on  indulgently,  "  a  jour- 
ney to  London  is  a  most  momentous  thing." 

"  It  can  be,  my  lord,"  she  answered,  a  shadow  falling 
across  her  face  that  arrested  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  he  said  hastily.  "  That  was  a 
vastly  uncomfortable  circumstance.  But  I  am  speaking 
of  the  journey  only.  Now,  I  wonder  what  you  would 
think  of  the  grand  tour." 

"The  grand  tour?"  she  echoed  uncomprehendingly. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  an  airy  gesture  of  indiffer- 
ence. "  Paris,  Turin,  Florence,  Rome,  Venice.  May- 
hap a  stay  at  the  Golden  Horn." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  dream  of  such  a  journey." 


138  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Nay,  I  venture  that  you  cannot.  So  you  tell  me 
good-bye  in  such  solemn  fashion,  when  I'll  be  sworn  you 
are  going  but  a  short  posting  journey  hence." 

"  You'll  never  see  Mistress  Marjorie  again,"  she  said 
with  a  growing  touch  of  obstinacy. 

He  became  more  persistent,  more  bent  upon  his  point 
as  she  evaded  him. 

"  My  dear  little  maid,"  he  said,  "  do  you  tell  yourself 
that  you  can  vanish  like  the  Princess  in  the  fairy  tale? 
Now  try  and  think.  We  live  in  a  vast  world,  which 
the  map  lays  down  to  us  in  little  lines  and  spots  of  colour. 
These,  please  you,  consider  to  be  empires,  kingdoms,  and 
principalities.  This  England  of  ours,  great  though  it  be 
in  history,  and  growing  in  influence,  these  fusty  old 
geographies  still  with  brutal  frankness  would  reveal  as 
a  little  spot  upon  the  coast  of  Europe.  Do  you  think, 
you  solemn-eyed  demoiselle,  that  I  could  not  find  you  on 
this  little  island  ?  " 

She  faced  him,  and  her  eyes  were  sparkling. 

"  Do  you  infer,  my  lord,  that  it  is  your  pleasure  to 
persist  in  this  acquaintance  whether  I  would  or  no  ?  " 

"  Very  neatly  spoke,  dear  child.  That  is  the  case  to  a 
syllable." 

"  And  what  if  it  be  not  my  will  ?  "  she  queried  with 
spirit. 

"  Your  will,"  he  answered,  looking  fairly  back  at  her, 
his  face  determined ;  "  are  you  going  to  tell  me  that 
you'll  avoid  me  ?  " 

"  I  will  avoid  you,"  she  said,  tossing  up  her  head. 

"  Then,  let  me  tell  you,"  he  answered,  "  my  very  beau- 
tiful, very  wilful  and  wholly  bewitching  young  woman, 
that  I  am  a  man  of  my  word,  and  I  am  in  the  habit  of 
having  my  own  way.  And  if  you  try  to  hide  from  me, 
I  shall  search  England  for  you  with  a  drag-net." 

"  Used  to  having  your  own  way,"  she  flashed  at  him. 


MASTER    CUPID  139 

"You've  had  far  too  much  of  your  own  way,  and  that's 
half  that  is  the  matter  with  you." 

"  The  matter  with  me  ?  "  he  echoed  with  something 
like  consternation. 

"  Yes,  it  is.  If  you  had  had  employment  for  your 
brain  and  had  not  frittered  away  the  best  of  your  life 
over  dice,  and  shut  in  your  heart  under  such  fashionable 
waistcoats,  you  might  be  somebody  now,  and  not  just  the 
spendthrift  Earl  of  Yerington." 

"  Take  care,"  he  said,  drawing  a  step  nearer  to 
her ;  "  you  know  the  penalty  for  overmuch  truthful- 
ness." 

"That,  for  your  threats!"  she  exclaimed. 

She  darted  about  like  quicksilver,  and  was  half  across 
the  bridge  spanning  the  weir  before  he  could  recover 
from  his  surprise.  He  took  a  few  rapid  steps  after  her, 
then  checked  himself  as  the  miller  sauntered  out  into  the 
sunshine.  He  stood  watching  her  pink  dress  until  it 
vanished  about  a  turn  of  the  road  that  wound  up  the 
hill. 

The  incongruity  of  a  man  of  his  position  being  baited 
by  a  chit  like  this  came  vividly  to  his  mind,  and  he 
laughed.  Then  he  paused  and  frowned. 

"  Damme,"  he  thought,  "  here  is  a  pretty  state  of 
things.  But  what  eyes !  " 

Something  within  him  whispered :  "  And  what  a  pure, 
honest  little  heart." 

"  But  devil  take  me,  if  I'll  be  beaten  like  this "  he 

ejaculated,  as  if  arguing  with  that  inward  voice. 

Then  came  stage  six.  It  was  a  battle  royal  between 
love  and  family  pride. 

For  several  days  he  could  not  persuade  himself  that 
Marjorie  indeed  had  vanished.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
he  requested  an  interview  with  Mrs.  Culpepper.  He  had 
never  thought  that  shrinking  woman  capable  of  such 


140  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

determination.  But  then  he  had  never  been  obliged  to 
reckon  before  with  the  implacable  obstinacy  latent  in 
many  gentle  characters.  At  the  end  of  the  interview  he 
had  a  disturbing  consciousness  that  he  had  appeared 
ruffled;  that  his  polished  manners  had  been  open  to 
criticism.  That  thought  in  itself  had  power  to  irritate 
him,  and  he  had  gained  nothing.  He  knew  when  he 
turned  his  back  upon  Mrs.  Culpepper  and  the  Royal 
Arms,  that  from  that  source  at  least  he  would  gain  no 
knowledge  of  Marjorie.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Michael  as  he  went  down  the  stairs,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  that  young  man's  face  wore  an  expression  of 
triumph.  But  then,  he  told  himself,  he  was  becoming 
suspicious.  He  was  continually  seeing  this  expression  or 
that  expression  in  the  countenances  of  people  whose  very 
existence  he  had  hitherto  only  acknowledged  because  his 
code  included  courtesy  to  his  social  inferiors,  and  to  have 
violated  that,  was  as  opposed  to  his  ideals  as  to  have 
ignored  a  debt  of  honour.  Of  course,  all  this  added  sus- 
ceptibility to  other  personalities  came  about  when  he  ad- 
mitted an  affinity  outside  his  own  social  environment. 
This  reflection  sent  him  up  the  road  to  Oxholme  Castle  in 
a  state  of  superb  philosophy,  heartily  glad  he  had  left  the 
whole  affair  behind  him,  including  the  calf-eyed  Mrs. 
Culpepper  and  the  Royal  Arms. 

That  night  was  sleepless  and  disturbed.  The  next  day 
was  restless.  He  found,  to  his  surprise,  that  he  had 
given  the  faithful  Thor  a  brutal  kick  in  return  for  a 
thoroughly  warrantable  demonstration  of  affection.  The 
night  following  he  again  scarcely  closed  his  eyes.  He 
spent  most  of  it  pacing  his  room  and  calling  himself  a  fool. 
Up  to  a  certain  point  a  man  obtains  infinite  comfort  from 
calling  himself  a  fool,  but  after  an  interval,  it  ceases  to 
solace,  especially  if  the  conditions  which  led  to  that  ob- 
servation are  not  alleviated. 


MASTER    CUPID  141 

He  even  lent  himself  to  the  lowness  of  catechising  the 
millers.  He  could  gain  no  information.  He  was  un- 
able to  put  down  the  quality  of  some  of  their  replies 
definitely  to  crass  stupidity,  and  was  inclined  to  suspect 
them  at  times,  of  cunning.  But  then  he  had  grown 
absurdly  suspicious. 

He  returned  and  threw  himself  heavily  into  a  chair  in 
the  great  hall  of  Oxholme  Castle.  His  boots  were 
muddy,  his  costume  less  carefully  arranged  than  usual, 
and  his  whole  attitude  filled  with  a  profound  despond- 
ency. 

Hugh  Elliot  was  already  there  enjoying  his  church- 
warden and  a  volume  of  Virgil.  That  poet  added  flavour 
to  his  country  surroundings,  and  he  had  often  indulged 
in  the  perusal  of  this  book  during  his  stay.  He  looked 
up  from  his  reading  to  see  Yerington,  his  head  bent  for- 
ward on  his  chest,  plunged  in  gloomy  introspection. 

"What  ails  thee,  lad?"  he  asked. 

"  I've  just  recalled,"  said  Yerington,  speaking  from 
the  midst  of  a  reverie,  "  that  one  of  my  ancestresses  was 
the  daughter  of  a  bowman  during  the  time  of  Henry  the 
Second." 

"  Egad,  man,"  laughed  Elliot,  "  why  go  about  with  a 
face  like  that  over  it  at  this  age?  The  blot  has  been 
washed  away  by  generations  of  the  bluest  blood  in 
England." 

"  Blot  ?  "  echoed  Yerington,  with  a  touch  of  choler. 
"What  is  blue  blood?  Half  the  time  'tis  blue  putrid- 
ity." 

"  Whew !  "  whistled  Captain  Elliot,  "  this  from  you, 
Harry?  I've  ever  maintained  that  ancestry  puts  spirit 
in  a  man,  and  so  have  you." 

"  Not  I,"  expostulated  Yerington.  "  As  for  you,  you 
raw-boned,  hide-bound  Scot,  with  your  granite-sown 
acres,  and  your  crumbling  little  towered  castle,  and  your 


A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

twopenny  lairdship,  what  can  you  boast  of,  save  of  sheep- 
stealing?  " 

"  True,"  answered  Elliot  with  complacency.  "  I 
flatter  myself  nobody  had  more  ancestors  hanged  than 
I.  Ours  was  a  spirited  clan  and  we  were  canny  on  the 
lifting." 

Yerington  leaned  forward,  and  there  was  in  his  eyes 
a  sort  of  hopefulness,  a  touch  almost  of  enthusiasm. 

"  There  was  a  picture  of  this  ancestress  of  mine,"  he 
said,  "  painted  by  a  Dutchman.  You  know  their  glassy 
sort  of  work,  and  their  sincere  attention  to  each  feature. 
Well,  I've  been  studying  her  face  and  comparing  it  with 
her  descendants,  whose  portraits  are  scattered  about  the 
Castle,  and  I'll  be  bound,  Hugh,  'tis  the  noblest  of  the 
race  who  favour  her." 

Captain  Elliot  did  not  reply.  He  smoked  with  such 
energy  that  his  harsh-featured  face  was  soon  almost 
obscured  in  a  blue  haze. 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  say?  "  asked  Yerington,  after  a 
pause. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Elliot. 

After  a  silence  of  some  moments,  Yerington  rose 
abruptly  to  his  feet. 

"  I'll  be  sworn,  Hugh,  'twas  scurvy  of  you  to  bring 
me  to  this  God-forsaken  corner  of  the  world,  and  then 
sit  there  as  dour  and  speechless  as  one  of  your  own 
ghillies." 

He  swung  himself  from  the  room  in  a  temper  so  rare 
for  him,  that  Captain  Elliot  looked  after  him  with  affec- 
tionate speculation. 

"  Either  the  lad  hath  a  touch  of  the  spleen,"  he  thought 

to  himself,  "or He  hath  been  much  by  himself  and 

curiously  content  with  his  own  society.  I  don't  like  the 
tenor  of  his  words.  Hath  he  got  mixed  up  with  some 
village  wench  who  is  leading  him  on  by  a  pose  of  virtue  ? 


MASTER    CUPID  143 

No,  surely,  he  is  too  town-broke  for  that.  But  I  shall 
insist  that  he  accept  the  Duchess  of  Croome's  invitation." 

When  Captain  Elliot  made  the  suggestion  to  Lord 
Yerington  at  dinner,  he  acceded  to  it  with  a  promptness 
that  astonished  his  friend,  and  promised  to  go  with  him 
the  next  day  to  Marsden  House. 

Captain  Elliot  could  not  guess  that  he  was  seeking  to 
throw  out  another  bulwark  of  defence  against  his  own 
heart ;  that  he  was  telling  himself  that  if  he  got  back  again 
to  the  world  to  which  he  belonged,  some  of  this  girl's 
strange,  baffling  hold  over  him  might  be  weakened. 

Lord  Yerington  passed  another  sleepless  night.  He 
swore  at  his  pillows  and  punched  them  viciously,  and 
actually  lighted  a  candle  to  assure  himself  that  the  sheets 
were  indeed  linen  and  not  some  woolly,  irritating  com- 
pound that  would  account  for  his  wakefulness.  Then 
he  gave  up  the  struggle,  donned  slippers  and  a  warm 
morning-gown  and  began  a  restless  walk  about  his  room. 
Suddenly  in  the  midst  of  his  perambulating,  a  resolve 
formed  in  his  mind,  at  least  he  told  himself  that  it  was 
sudden,  as  we  are  all  inclined  to  consider  climaxes  sudden 
to  which  we  have  been  laboriously  climbing  over  accumu- 
lating circumstances.  The  resolve  once  formed,  it  stood 
out  in  the  darkness  vividly.  His  former  hesitations  were 
as  completely  annihilated  as  if  they  had  had  no  exist- 
ence. He  belonged  to  a  race,  which,  once  it  pledged  itself 
to  a  cause  or  to  a  love,  gave  itself  with  a  whole-hearted, 
unquestioning  prodigality.  It  was  this  same  quality 
which  had  made  him  so  reckless  and  light-hearted  a 
gambler.  He  staked  so  freely  and  so  finally. 

As  this  resolve  formed  in  his  mind,  he  stood  motionless 
for  a  few  moments,  permitting  the  flood  of  happiness  that 
came  with  it,  to  envelop  him.  He  was  astounded  that 
he  for  an  instant  could  have  considered  the  bepowdered, 
bejewelled,  brocaded,  senseless  frivolities  of  Vanity  Fair 


144  A    DISCIPLE    OF  ^CHANCE 

against  this  girl.  He  recalled  her  qualities  and  gloried 
in  them.  She  stood  out  like  a  beam  of  white  light 
against  the  background  of  his  own  life.  Hesitate?  Not 
he!  He  should  wear  her  proudly,  where  all  the  world 
might  see.  After  that,  for  the  rest  of  the  night  he  slept 
quietly. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE   COUP 

Zeal,  then,  not  charity  became  the  guide; 

And  Hell  was  built  on  spite,  and  Heaven  on  pride. 

— ALEXANDER  POPE. 

A  CHAISE  was  being  driven  toward  Oxholme  Castle;  it 
was  a  claret-coloured,  prosperous-looking  vehicle.  At  in- 
tervals Mr.  Mansur's  face  appeared  at  one  of  its  win- 
dows scanning  the  park  through  which  it  was  passing, 
surveying  the  gnarled  centuried  oaks,  the  lime-trees, 
beeches  and  spreading  chestnuts.  It  was  a  superb  park, 
carefully  preserved,  and  its  mellowed  air  and  its  expres- 
sion of  long-rooted  possession  lost  no  tithe  of  its  signifi- 
cance in  Mr.  Mansur's  mind,  which  calculated  the  cost 
of  its  upkeep  to  a  penny.  His  eyes  sought  out  the  castle 
itself.  It  stood  crowning  a  height,  its  machicolated 
towers  pleasantly  time-weathered  and  vine-draped. 
Though  the  postilions  were  urging  the  horses  forward 
with  sharp  cracking  of  the  whips  and  spurs  mercilessly 
applied,  Mr.  Mansur  still  leaned  slightly  forward  in  his 
seat,  as  if  his  mind  were  eagerly  upon  the  stretch  and  im- 
patient for  its  destination.  Under  the  three-storied  gate- 
house the  chaise  whirled  and  drew  up  before  the  door  of 
the  castle. 

Mr.  Mansur's  polished  boot  was  scarcely  upon  the  step 
when  Foulkes,  the  old  butler,  came  out  to  greet  him  with 
due  decorum.  He  ushered  his  master's  friend  into  the 
hall  with  a  respectful  bow,  and  would  have  departed  in 
search  of  Lord  Yerington,  when  Mr.  Mansur  wheeled 
sharply  round  upon  his  heel  and  addressed  him. 

"  Not  above  a  pint  of  small  beer  to  my  men,"  he  said 
145 


146  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

curtly.  "  I  have  scant  patience  with  the  country  hos- 
pitality that  sends  a  gentleman's  postilions  away  reeling 
in  their  saddles." 

The  dignified  old  servitor  permitted  himself  no  glance 
of  resentment,  but  as  he  turned  away  he  thought: 

"  If  they  can  tell  a  turnpike  from  a  turnip  patch  when 
I'm  done  with  them,  'twill  be  no  fault  of  John  Foulkes's." 

Left  alone,  Mr.  Mansur  looked  about  the  hall.  The 
scene  was  no  unfamiliar  one  to  him,  but  he  saw  to-day 
with  new  eyes,  for  he  was  regarding  it  from  a  novel  men- 
tal standpoint.  He  observed  the  great  window,  climbing 
almost  to  the  groined  and  carven  roof,  a  casual  depreca- 
tion in  his  lifted  eyebrows.  Then  he  whistled  a  tuneless 
snatch,  swinging  to  and  fro  upon  his  travelling  boots  as 
he  did  so.  He  was  still  so  engaged  when  Foulkes  again 
entered,  with  a  bowl  of  punch. 

"  His  lordship  will  be  here  within  the  moment,"  he 
said,  "  and  he  begs  that  you  will  refresh  yourself." 

He  withdrew  noiselessly.  Still  Mr.  Mansur  stood 
where  he  had  left  him.  There  was  none  of  the  relaxed 
ease  in  his  attitude  of  one  who  found  himself  amidst 
familiar  surroundings,  and  in  the  home  of  an  intimate 
friend.  His  eyes  became  busy  with  the  portraits  upon 
the  walls;  the  fair  ladies  and  brave-appearing  men,  suc- 
ceeding generations  of  the  race  of  Gower,  on  the  whole 
a  comely  one  and  of  frank  and  open  mien.  A  smile 
crossed  his  lips  as  he  regarded  them.  A  wonder  arose  in 
his  mind  that  a  race  upon  whom  candour  and  hospitality 
was  writ  so  large  had  still  contrived  to  come  down  the 
centuries  with  their  fortune  undiminished. 

He  turned  again  to  the  great  window,  where  the  light 
filtered  through  the  family  quarterings,  splashing  it  with 
vivid  colour.  He  was  wise  in  heraldry.  There  he  read 
where  the  line  of  the  Gowers  had  crossed  with  distinction 
in  arms,  in  learning  and  honourably,  back  in  the  centuries, 


THE    COUP  147 

with  royalty  itself.  He  looked  upwards  to  the  tattered 
pennons,  dim  and  faded,  which  had  been  captured  upon 
the  battle-field ;  as  he  gazed  his  eyes  narrowed.  He  was 
parched  with  a  thirst  for  that  centuried  security,  which 
Lord  Yerington  bore  so  lightly.  He,  Mr.  Mansur,  with 
his  boundless  ambition,  and  a  consciousness  of  mental 
power,  must  stand  there  amid  these  storied  surroundings 
and  confess  himself  impotent  to  achieve  that  for  which 
he  hungered.  Humbler  men,  with  worthier  ambitions, 
would  have  been  unconscious  of  such  a  sting,  but  for 
him  it  was  a  parthian  shot.  He  was  hit  fairly  in  his 
Achilles'  heel,  in  the  rift  in  his  defence;  all  his  ruthless 
calculations,  his  determined  plottings,  his  practised  mien 
of  acquiescence,  his  tactful,  patient  waiting  upon  great 
men's  pleasures,  could  not  avail  him  here.  Within  Mr. 
Mansur  there  existed  a  weakness;  once  the  strain  became 
too  great  it  cracked  wide  and  through  it  poured  a  flood  of 
torrential  anger,  honest  in  its  fierce  unchecked  hate,  as 
nothing  else  in  the  man  was  honest — save  one  thing. 

This  feeling  was  so  fierce  that  he  became  conscious  that 
his  lips  were  dry  and  moved  with  difficulty.  He  ap- 
proached the  table  where  the  punch-bowl  stood,  its  spiced 
fumes  rising  temptingly.  He  paused  with  the  ladle  in  his 
hand  and  looked  into  its  crimson  contents.  He  saw  re- 
flected in  it  the  parti-coloured  heraldic  emblems  inlaid  in 
the  great  window.  With  a  muttered  imprecation,  he 
plunged  in  the  ladle,  breaking  and  scattering  the  reflec- 
tion into  dancing  lights. 

An  arm  was  thrown  about  his  shoulders.  With  an  un- 
controllable start,  he  turned  to  see  Lord  Yerington  laugh- 
ing down  at  him. 

"Aha,"  cried  that  gentleman,  "so  bad  as  that?  I'll 
swear  you  thought  that  punch  an  enemy.  Was  it  the 
memory  of  the  evils  it  had  wrought  upon  you  that  in- 
duced that  savage  thrust,  or  your  own  face  within  it?  " 


148  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Mr.  iVlansur's  well-trained  muscles  responded  with  a 
smile.  He  was  startled,  and  his  mind  jarred  into  an  ac- 
customed pose.  This  prevailed  but  a  moment,  then  a 
sidelong  glance  revealed  to  him  something  in  Lord  Yer- 
ington's  countenance  that  caused  him  to  lock  warily  away 
all  open  expression  from  his  own  face7  while  he  sought  to 
read  the  riddle  of  that  look. 

The  conversation  began  after  an  abrupt  fashion.  This 
morning  he  had  no  need  of  further  disguises. 

"  What  has  happened  to  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

Yerington  had  turned  aside  to  pour  himself  a  glass  of 
punch.  At  this  instant  he  was  holding  it  to  the  light 
with  a  quiet  look  in  his  eyes.  He  was  reading  the  vision 
of  a  girl's  face  into  its  gleam.  A  tone  in  Mansur's  voice 
rudely  dissipated  this  picture,  and  with  it  the  expression 
which  Mansur  had  detected.  Instinctively  he  hid  his 
treasured  secret  with  a  jest. 

"  Happened  to  me,  egad,"  he  answered ;  "  what  can 
happen  in  the  country  ?  Not  so  much  as  a  flirtation  with 
a  parson's  wife,  who  has  a  figure  like  a  boiled  pudding  and 
eyes  like  its  plums.  I  protest  I'm  vastly  bored  with  my 
virtuous  self.  Come,  save  me  with  a  pinch  of  the  town. 
Have  you  news  of  a  fresh  scandal?  What  is  the  name 
of  the  King's  last  mistress?  " 

Mansur  lowered  his  black  eyebrows. 

"  I'll  be  sworn  something  has  happened  to  you,"  he  in- 
sisted. 

"A  tit  for  your  tat,"  answered  Yerington,  as  he 
daintily  sifted  the  nutmeg  into  his  punch.  "  How  came 
you  to  Worcestershire?  I  heard  no  hint  of  such  a  jour- 
ney when  I  saw  you  last." 

"  I'm  on  my  way  to  her  grace,  the  Duchess  of 
Croome." 

Yerington  glanced  at  him  over  the  punch. 

"  Ton  honour,  I  was  not  aware  that  you  knew  her 


THE    COUP  149 

grace.  Faith,  you  might  do  worse.  I'm  told  her  niece 
Lady  Philida  is  fair.  I've  not  seen  her  since  she  was  a 
shy  child  and  disappeared  in  the  shrubberies  at  my  ap- 
proach." 

None  of  Mansur's  relief  at  these  words  appeared  in  his 
face.  A  fear  had  been  cleared  from  his  mind,  the  fear 
that  had  urged  his  horses  up  the  two-mile  hill  to  Oxholme 
Castle,  and  which  had  jumped  to  ready  suspicion  at  the 
indefinable  change  in  Yerington's  face. 

But  this  relief  did  not  induce  him  to  delay  the  pur- 
pose of  his  coming. 

Lord  Yerington's  whole  demeanour  filled  him  with 
even  more  than  his  usual  sense  of  antagonism.  He  saw 
him  against  a  background  peculiarly  his  own,  unblurred 
by  other  personalities.  This  seemed  to  bring  into  clearer 
relief  his  handsome  face  and  figure,  the  indefinable  charm 
of  his  manner. 

"  And  what,  my  lord,  has  brought  you  to  Worcester- 
shire ? "  he  queried.  "  Methinks  nothing  was  further 
from  your  mind  when  last  we  met." 

Yerington's  face  shadowed. 

Mansur's  words  had  a  power  to  pain  him  they  would 
not  have  possessed  a  fortnight  since.  To-day  this  implied 
neglect  of  his  estates  carried  straight  to  his  newly-aroused 
sense  of  responsibility.  But  an  unfamiliar  impulse  of  ret- 
icence toward  this  man,  in  whom  he  had  habitually 
placed  a  careless  confidence,  prompted  him  again  to  jest 
the  truth  aside. 

"  What  better  than  a  yearning  for  classic  simplicity 
need  inspire  me,  a  longing  for  tootling  shepherds'  pipes, 
browsing  barley-sugar  sheep,  on  greeny,  greeny  meadows? 
Hang  me,  Mansur,  but  Bow  china  lies  most  abomi- 
nably." 

Mansur  smiled. 

"  You've  said  nothing  of  shepherdesses,"  he  said. 


150  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Then  he  bit  his  lip  and  turned  abruptly  toward  the 
great  carved  fireplace.     He  had  not  intended  that  the  con- 
versation should  take  this  turn,  and  he  regretted  it. 
.    "  No,"  slowly  answered  Yerington,  "  I  haven't." 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  man  who  stood  with  his 
back  toward  him,  one  foot  on  the  stone  guard  about  the 
hearth.  He  was  a  distinguished  figure  and  bore  himself 
with  an  air  for  which  long  mingling  with  men  of  fashion 
alone  could  not  account.  Without  it  it  is  possible  that 
even  Yerington's  championship  might  not  have  carried 
him  into  the  exclusive  circles  into  which  he  had  now  won 
an  admission,  if  a  grudging  one. 

At  this  moment  Yerington  had  suddenly  recalled  the 
memory  of  those  same  shapely  shoulders  dodging  into  the 
congested  traffic  of  the  Strand  in  pursuit  of  a  vanishing 
hackney-coach.  The  earl  was  slow  to  suspicion,  but 
Mansur's  appearance  in  Worcestershire  began  to  hover  in 
the  outskirts  of  his  mind  with  a  sense  of  curious  coinci- 
dence. As  he  watched  him,  suddenly  Mansur  burst  into 
a  fit  of  abrupt,  harsh  laughter.  For  some  moments  he 
stood  lost  in  his  strange  mirth. 

Lord  Yerington  sipped  his  punch,  unruffled. 

"  Do  you  mind  my  saying,  Mansur,"  he  drawled  at 
length,  "that  I  find  your  manner  scarce  soothing?  If  I 
were  not  in  the  best  humour  in  the  world,  I  might  add 
that  it  was  irritating.  I'm  glad  you  are  diverted,  but 
devil  take  me  if  I  see  any  wit  in  the  present  occa- 
sion." 

Mansur  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  A  jest  is  not  always  in  chorus,"  he  said. 

"  So  I  infer,"  assented  his  host  indifferently. 

Mansur  stood  on  the  edge  of  his  great  coup. 

Beyond  that  burst  of  unexpected  laughter,  which  had 
in  it  a  ring  that  suggested  that  control  had  for  an  instant 
slipped  the  leash,  he  was  unmoved.  This  crisis  toward 


THE    COUP  151 

•which  he  had  built  for  years,  upon  which  he  staked  so 
much,  found  him  cold.  It  was  as  if  his  emotion  hung 
in  the  wind,  unable  to  answer  to  the  helm.  This  eagerly 
awaited  culmination  came  with  a  sense  of  atrophy. 

"  There  are  two  occasions,"  said  Mansur,  shaking  out 
his  handkerchief,  "  when  a  man  laughs  with  reason." 

"And  when  may  those  be,  pray?"  queried  Yerington, 
more  from  politeness  than  from  interest,  for  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  growing  sense  of  annoyance.  He  felt  out  of 
tune  with  his  old  familiar. 

"  When  Fate,  the  jade,"  answered  Mr.  Mansur  jaunt- 
ily, "  has  the  whip-hand  of  him — or  he  of  Fate.  Has 
any  news  reached  this  Arcadia  of  yours  of  the  proceed- 
ings in  the  House?  " 

"  A  breath  or  two.  Walpole  tells  me  that  from  the 
House  to  the  'Change  Alley  is  like  a  chain  of  ants,  and 
that  the  man  who  in  the  House  cries  up  the  stocks  one 
day,  the  next  cries  them  down,"  answered  Yerington  with 
a  frown. 

From  the  depth  of  him  he  disapproved  of  those  political 
manipulators  who  traded  in  the  country's  credit  and 
abused  the  confidence  of  their  constituents  for  personal 
gain. 

Mr.  Mansur  perceived  the  frown,  but  he  felt  an  elated 
sense  of  indifference  to  it. 

"  The  millionaires  of  yesterday  are  the  paupers  of  to- 
day," he  said  with  emphasis. 

Yerington  placed  his  glass  upon  the  table.  His  cold 
disapproval  grew,  as  he  looked  at  the  man  before  the 
carved  fireplace,  who  still  stood  with  his  foot  upon  the 
guard. 

"  I  fear,"  he  said,  "  it  is  a  veritable  South  Sea  year.  I 
hope  from  my  heart  you've  had  no  hand  in  this  abomi- 
nable business." 

Mansur  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


152  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  And  what  If  I  have,  Harry?  "  he  said.  "  What  has 
a  parvenu  to  do  with  conscience?  Surely  that  too  is  an 
aristocratic  luxury." 

"  When  have  you  heard  me  use  the  word  parvenu  ?  " 
asked  Yerington. 

He  perceived  the  fling  in  Mr.  Mansur's  words  arid  re- 
sented it. 

As  if  this  question  had  touched  the  fuse  of  his  long- 
concealed  animosity,  the  man  whom  he  addressed  swung 
round  toward  him.  His  face  was  transformed;  all  the 
practised  smiles  had  vanished,  it  no  longer  showed  the 
unblended  sharpness  of  outline  and  colour  and  feature. 
It  was  as  if  the  fire  of  hatred  that  consumed  him  united 
it  into  a  unified  whole  at  last.  Compared  to  this  flam- 
ing emotion,  the  nobleman  seated  beside  the  table  seemed 
cold  and  white. 

"  Never  called  me  a  parvenu,"  he  burst  out,  "  you 
have  a  thousand  times.  Your  very  friendship  was  an  in- 
sult, your  manners,  polished  even  in  your  cups,  your  in- 
fernal pride  of  family.  There  was  condescension  in  the 
very  way  you  never  hinted  at  a  difference." 

"  This  is  madness,"  said  Lord  Yerington,  softly.  "  My 
poor  Mansur! " 

"  Poor  Mansur,"  echoed  the  other ;  "  no !  rich  Man- 
sur, if  you  will.  I'm  rich,  do  you  hear  me?  'Tis  you 
who  are  poor,  for  I  have  ruined  you." 

Yerington  regarded  him  without  comprehension.  This 
change  in  the  friend  he  had  trusted  carried  no  conviction. 
Mad,  he  could  believe  him,  but  that  he  was  false  his 
mind  refused  for  the  moment  to  grasp. 

"  Ruined  me,"  he  repeated  incredulously.  "  Why  in 
the  name  of  folly  should  you  seek  to  ruin  me?  " 

This  faith  so  strong  that  aT  r.  blow  he  could  not  shatter 
it,  lashed  Mansur  into  zrT.-.r.r  intemperance  of  expression. 
He  came  nearer,  his  words  chasing  one  another. 


THE    COUP  158 

"Because  I  hated  you.  God,  how  I  hated  you!  So 
you  thought  that  we  butchers'  sons  could  be  insulted  and 
forget?  You  thought  me  such  poor  stuff  that  I  might 
be  beaten  like  a  dog  and  forget  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Lord  Yerington,  with  slow-drawn  breath. 

Captain  Elliot's  face  that  night  at  White's  rose  to  his 
mind,  sharp  and  sudden  like  a  picture. 

"  Prithee,  say  on,"  he  continued,  changing  his  atti- 
tude for  one  of  polite  attention.  "  This  waxes  interest- 
ing." 

Mansur  scarcely  heeded  him. 

"  You  were  made  for  my  plans,"  he  went  on ;  "a 
trusting  fool,  doomed  to  be  the  tool  of  the  first  man  who 
would  trouble  to  deceive  you.  I  wanted  position ;  I  used 
you,  climbed  by  you,  hating  you." 

He  smiled  his  quick  smile,  a  flash  of  red  lips  and  white 
teeth.  , 

"  I  hope  the  situation  diverts  your  lordship,  for  there's 
humour  in  it.  Money  you  despise,  save  as  an  adjunct. 
I  knew  that  in  your  little  world  of  St.  James's,  butchers' 
sons  without  it  did  not  exist.  Money  was  the  magic 
word  with  which  to  conjure  me,  with  some  nice  manag- 
ing of  puppets,  such  as  peers,  a  palpable  body,  which  the 
beau  monde  might  discern  with  .quizzing— glasses.  A 
parvenu  with  money,  my  lord,  is,  however,  in  somewhat 
better  case  than  a  peer  without  it.  The  parvenu  exists 
on  suffrance.  The  peer,"  he  raised  his  eyebrows,  "  devil 
take  me,  if  I  can  see  that  the  impecunious  peer  exists  at 
all.  An  escutcheon  is  a  damned  troublesome  thing  if  a 
man  hath  not  wherewith  to  house  it." 

Lord  Yerington  looked  back  at  him  as  he  spoke  with- 
out a  change  of  expression,  though  his  words  had  been 
taking  hold  upon  him  with  a  sickening  sense  of  convic- 
tion. It  was  characteristic  of  the  man  that  for  the  mo- 
ment the  annihilation  of  his  faith  in  his  friend  took  posses- 


154  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

sion  of  his  mind,  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  the  realisation 
of  his  shattered  fortunes.  That  thought,  however,  was 
beginning  to  shape  itself. 

"  You  confided  your  affairs  to  my  management,"  went 
on  Mr.  Mansur.  "  That  was  step  number  one.  This 
agitation  in  the  Indian  stock  provided  me  my  opportunity. 
I  did  not  use  your  money  myself.  That  dual  conscious- 
ness some  men  are  pleased  to  call  their  conscience,  is  a 
strange  and  perverse  thing.  I  detested  each  penny  of 
your  fortune,  but  I  put  every  shilling  of  it  into  those 
stocks  before  they  fell,  and  from  my  seat  in  the  House 
I  took  care  that  they  should  fall." 

"  And  how,"  asked  Yerington  calmly,  "  am  I  to  know 
that  you  are  not  lying?  " 

Mr.  Mansur  handed  him  a  paper  with  a  bow. 

"  There  is  your  assurance,  my  lord." 

Yerington  took  the  manuscript,  turned  it  over,  and 
examined  the  signature  with  care.  It  was  from  his  own 
and  Mr.  Mansur's  solicitor.  He  ran  his  eyes  over  it.  It 
was  addressed  to  him.  The  old  family  lawyer  expressed 
in  it  vehement  regret  at  Lord  Yerington's  strange  obses- 
sion of  judgment,  and  his  refusal  to  see  him  and  be  rea- 
soned with.  Then  it  proceeded  at  great  length,  with  a 
legal  elaboration  of  detail,  to  lay  down  the  exact  extent 
and  finality  of  his  lordship's  losses,  and  begged  to  sub- 
scribe himself,  "  his  obliged  and  obedient  servant,  Josiah 
Crookshanks." 

Silently  Yerington  returned  the  paper. 

"  My  compliments,"  he  said.  "  You  possess  forgery 
among  your  accomplishments.  I've  neither  read  nor  an- 
swered Mr.  Crookshanks'  letters  on  this  subject,  as  you 
know.  You  are  a  most  damnable  rogue." 

Mr.  Mansur,  in  the  face  of  this  perfect  control,  almost 
lost  his  own  self-possession.  Yerington's  immobility  was 
robbing  his  revenge  of  half  its  savour. 


THE    COUP  155 

"  I'd  fain  not  be  lonely  in  a  naughty  world,"  he  re- 
sponded with  an  attempt  at  bravado. 

"  And,"  said  Lord  Yerington,  "  if  I  were  to  tell  this 
world  of  St.  James's  that  you  love  so  dearly,  that  my  one 
stipulation  about  this  fortune  I  entrusted  to  your  manage- 
ment was  that  it  should  not  be  placed  in  stocks,  what 
then?  And  my  refusal  to  meet  Mr.  Crookshanks  reads 
somewhat  oddly  too,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"  You  were  pleased  to  call  me  a  rogue  a  moment  since," 
responded  Mr.  Mansur  smoothly.  "  Be  that  as  it  may 
be,  I  flatter  myself  my  worst  enemy  would  scarce  call  me 
a  fool." 

And  he  laid  a  second  letter  before  him. 

Yerington  perceived  that  the  writing  was  amazingly 
like  his  own,  and  it  purported  to  commend  Mansur,  with 
here  and  there  even  a  trace  of  his  airy  manner,  to  invest 
his  money  in  the  Indian  stock.  It  had,  indeed,  been 
signed  by  him,  with  his  characteristic  flourish.  Mr. 
Mansur  had  brought  him  the  paper  one  day  and,  without 
troubling  to  read  it,  he  had  affixed  his  signature. 

Mr.  Mansur  waved  it  above  his  head  in  an  outburst 
of  rare  exuberance. 

"  Now,  where  is  your  pride  of  birth,  my  lord  pauper  ?  " 
he  exclaimed  exultingly. 

At  these  words  a  sudden  leap  of  fury  sprang  up  within 
Lord  Yerington.  With  a  bound  he  was  upon  the  man 
who  taunted  him.  He  locked  his  hands  about  his  throat, 
blind  with  rage.  In  vain  Mr.  Mansur  struggled  to  un- 
loose them.  The  room  swam  red.  It  was  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life  and  in  the  full  flood  of  suddenly  unleashed 
wrath  whose  fingers  throttled  him — no  young  dandy  of 
the  coffee-houses  now.  The  rage  of  his  primeval  ancestors 
looked  out  from  his  eyes.  Together  they  struggled  and 
slipped  over  the  polished  floor. 

Lord  Yerington's  abhorrence  seethed  above  his  wrath. 


156  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

His  teeth  ground  audibly,  as  he  flung  his  antagonist 
from  him. 

Mr.  Mansur  lay  upon  the  floor,  tearing  at  his  cravat. 

"This  is  murder,"  he  gasped,  struggling  to  his  feet, 
and  though  but  half  conscious  what  he  said,  spitting 
venom.  "You  choose  to  be  a  murderer,  a  cowardly 
murderer.  Now,  where  is  your  pride  of  birth  ?  " 

Yerington  had  completely  recovered  himself.  Every 
trace  of  the  recent  storm  had  vanished.  His  snuff-box 
was  airily  poised  in  his  hand. 

"  Never  more  vigorous,  good  butcher,"  he  answered, 
as  he  took  a  pinch  of  its  contents. 

Mr.  Mansur  choked  over  his  words. 

"  Unsheath  your  blade,  sir,"  he  stammered ;  "  no  man 
lays  hands  on  me  but  he  must  cross  swords  for  it." 

Yerington  cast  a  look  of  amusement  at  his  crimson 
visage. 

"  Faith,  my  blade  hath  a  daintier  appetite,"  he  said, 
tapping  his  snuff-box  before  he  returned  it  to  his  waist- 
coat pocket. 

"  Damn  you !  "  shrieked  Mr.  Mansur. 

He  was  mad  with  rage.  His  neck  still  ached,  and  his 
vision  was  obscured  by  the  congested  blood  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  prithee,  not  so  loud,"  exclaimed  Lord  Yerington, 
with  an  affected  shudder. 

"  Coward !  "  shouted  Mr.  Mansur,  "  you  are  afraid  to 
fight  me." 

Lord  Yerington's  hand  went  involuntarily  toward  his 
sword-hilt.  It  but  hovered  in  its  neighbourhood  and  then 
withdrew  a  scented  handkerchief  from  his  pocket.  He 
turned  lightly  toward  Mansur.  That  worthy  was  no 
coward,  and  his  weapon  was  already  bared.  When  Yer- 
ington spoke,  it  was  with  an  easy  lack  of  exigence,  that 
put  aside  all  possibility  of  dispute. 

"  No   gentleman   impugns   my  courage    but   he  must 


THE    COUP  157 

cross  swords  for  it,  but,  'pon  honour,  one  must  draw  the 
line  somewhere,  or  one  might  find  himself  involved  with 
his  butler  over  a  lost  cask  of  Burgundy." 

With  deliberate  and  finished  insolence  he  launched  his 
darts  at  the  weak  points  in  the  defence  of  his  quondam 
friend. 

Mr.  Mansur  would  have  spoken,  but  no  words  came. 

"  I  marvel  that  you  still  linger,"  continued  Yerington. 
"  The  bell-rope  is  here  and  the  horse-pond  is  without. 
Shall  I  summon  my  men  to  give  you  a  taste  of  it?  'Tis 
a  flavour  you'll  recall." 

Mr.  Mansur's  unsheathed  weapon  but  emphasised  his 
impotence.  His  face  was  distorted  as  he  slipped  his 
sword  into  its  scabbard. 

He  spoke  hoarsely. 

"  A  title  is  a  pretty  refuge  for  a  coward.  It  would  not 
serve  such  as  I.  Let  us  see  if  when  Lord  Burroughs 
challenges  you,  you'll  answer  him  to  the  point." 

Lord  Yerington  stood  motionless.  He  did  not  move 
until  the  grinding  of  the  gravel  told  him  that  his  enemy 
had  departed.  Then  he  raised  his  hand  and  brushed 
beads  of  perspiration  from  his  forehead.  He  had  just 
recalled  the  terms  of  his  wager  with  Lord  Burroughs,  en- 
tered in  the  betting-book  at  White's,  where  all  the  world 
might  read.  He  had  made  the  wager  so  lightly  he  had 
scarcely  remembered  it  since,  save  once  or  twice  in  jest. 

Our  deeds  we  may  forget,  but  their  consequences  possess 
a  haunting  and  relentless  vitality. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   LADY   PHILIDA 

I've  been  roaming,  I've  been  roaming, 
Where  the  meadow  dew  is  sweet, 
And  I'm  coming,  and  I'm  coming, 
With  its  pearls   upon  my  feet. 

— OLD  ENGLISH  SONG. 

MARSDEN  HALL  had  been  for  generations  the  dower 
house  of  the  Marsdens.  It  was  a  many-gabled  mansion, 
set  in  a  hollow  between  two  hills.  The  one  definite  in- 
dication of  the  present  Duchess  of  Croome's  occupation 
was  what  she  termed  her  Italian  garden.  This  garden 
was  in  fact  a  formal,  flower-bedded  plot  of  ground  near 
the  fore-court,  abloom  with  many  English  blossoms,  the 
only  foreign  flavour  about  it  being  its  pergola. 

For  some  years  the  duchess  had  occupied  Marsden 
Hall  with  little  satisfaction  to  herself,  for  the  duke  had 
not  made  her  generous  settlements,  and  had,  in  fact,  not 
cut  up  so  rich  as  she  had  hoped.  She  sustained  her- 
self with  what  philosophy  she  might,  by  means  of  a 
voluminous  correspondence  with  her  town  cronies,  and 
kept  her  fashions  up  to  date  by  the  assistance  of  the 
Ladies'  Magazine. 

For  years  she  had  been  putting  aside  every  penny  she 
could  spare  against  the  time  that  the  niece  whom  she 
adopted  should  be  taken  up  to  London.  At  moments  she 
was  tempted  to  think,  or  at  least  to  say,  that  Lady  Phi- 
lida's  complete  contentment  with  her  country  surround- 
ings was  somewhat  bourgeois.  She  occasionally  com- 
plained of  this  to  Horace  Walpole,  who  rather  affected 
her  society. 

158 


THE    LADY    PHILIDA  159 

She  had  a  liberal  supply  of  anecdotes  of  the  First 
George,  not  always  of  the  most  delicate  character,  and  so 
pithy  a  manner  of  delivering  them  that  he  found  her  a 
diverting  companion. 

"  Lud,  Horry,"  she  once  said  to  him,  "  if  we  don't 
succeed  between  us  in  getting  some  ideas  into  the  child's 
head  beyond  rheumatic  old  women  and  dirty  babies  and 
the  pity  of  poor  harvests,  I  protest  I  can  do  nothing 
with  her.  And  yet  she  is  a  bewitching  chit,  .and  would 
make  the  town  wild,  could  we  put  but  a  little  more  lan- 
guish into  her  glance  and  frivolity  into  her  heart.  We 
both  know  that  too  much  virtue  of  a  homely  quality 
goes  more  against  a  girl  in  town  than  a  squint." 

The  dew  was  still  on  the  grass,  when  Lady  Philida 
came  running  through  the  apple  orchard,  swinging  her 
hat  by  the  ribands,  and  singing  the  ditty  popular  in  that 
day,  but  out  of  tune  with  her  aunt's  precepts: 

"  Art  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers  ? 

O  sweet  content ! 
Art  thou  rich,  yet  is  thy  mind  perplext? 

O  punishment! 

Dost  thou  laugh  to  see  how  fools  are  vext 
To  add  to  golden  numbers,  golden  numbers? 
O  sweet  content!    O  sweet,  O  sweet  content! 
Work  apace,   apace,  apace,  apace; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face; 
Then  hey  nonny  nonny,  hey  nonny  nonny !  " 

Mr.  Walpole,  who  had  been  treating  himself  to  a  rare 
morning  ramble,  stepped  from  behind  a  hedge  and  swept 
off  his  hat  to  her. 

She  paused,  laughing,  her  cheeks  as  pink  as  her 
gown,  her  eyes  shining,  and  a  tiny  drop  of  dew  lurking 
here  and  there  upon  her  curls.  She  was  the  very  in- 
carnation of  youth  and  a  young  world. 

"Ah,  Lady  Philida,"  said  Mr.  Walpole,  shaking  his 


160  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

finger  archly  at  her.  "  Still  harping  on  the  old  note, 
and  London  but  a  few  months  away?  Ton  honour, 
your  aunt  has  told  me  in  all  seriousness  that  if  between 
us  we  don't  convert  you  to  a  consideration  of  patches 
and  brocades,  you'll  scarce  be  ready  for  the  world 
of  St.  James's  and  the  manage  of  your  hoop  at  a 
levee."  ' 

"  Lud,  Mr.  Walpole,"  she  answered,  "  now  you  are 
going  to  tell  me  more  of  your  horrid  world,  and  its  tor- 
tured pinned-up  smiles.  What  in  smoky  London  could 
you  give  me  to  equal  this  beautiful  morning?" 

"  Nothing  like  it,  I'll  admit,"  answered  Mr.  Wal- 
pole, stepping  along  beside  her,  "but  to  equal  it — this  is 
a  matter  of  opinion." 

"  But  I  love  the  country,"  she  responded  ardently, 
for  the  topic  was  not  a  new  one  to  her,  and  she  recog- 
nised in  her  companion  one  of  the  duchess'  outposts. 

"  So  do  I  love  the  country,"  responded  Mr.  Walpole. 
"  But,  believe  me,  its  bucolic  charms  may  wane.  Then 
'tis  the  town  we  want,  the  friction  of  the  wits,  the  mode. 
Believe  me,  Lady  Philida,  to  eat  a  syllabub  in  your  sweet 
country  in  a  tamboured  waistcoat  of  last  year's  pattern 
would  have  a  serious  effect  upon  my  digestion." 

The  girl's  frank  laugh  rang  out. 

"  'Tis  no  laughing  matter,"  he  said,  "  for  you  must 
learn  to  bear  yourself  as  becomes  your  station.  That 
pink  frock  of  yours,  beautiful  as  an  apple-blossom  here 
in  the  orchard,  would  be  out  of  place  at  St.  James's." 

"  But  I  don't  like  St.  James's,"  she  responded,  "  and 
the  ugly  little  round  king,  and  the  great  flaunting  ladies 
to  make  one  shiver  with  their  stare,  and  the  silly  beaux 
with  their  flourishes." 

She  swept  a  deep  one  in  imitation. 

He  looked  at  her  with  more  seriousness. 

"  I  like  not  the  role  of  grandsire,  Lady  Philida,"  he 


THE    LADY    PHILIDA  161 

said,  "  and,  faith,  I'm  but  a  shallow  creature,  but  may 
I  venture  upon  a  few  suggestions?" 

Perceiving  the  kindness  of  his  purpose,  she  answered 
with  a  meekness  that  was  only  half  feigned. 

"  I'm  ready,  Mr.  Walpole,  but  indeed,  forgive  me,  if 
I  do  not  promise  conversion." 

"  There  is  nothing  of  which  the  world  is  so  impa- 
tient, as  of  excellence,"  began  Mr.  Walpole,  "  not  the 
excellence  of  a  nondescript  order,  but  the  excellence  that 
builds  altars  to  itself  and  carves  inscriptions  round  the 
base." 

"  I  don't  like  those  square-built  people  myself,"  re- 
sponded the  girl. 

Encouraged,  Mr.  Walpole  continued,  with  an  airy 
gesture  of  his  hands. 

"There  are  some  virtues  so  ungenteel,  certain  strange 
properties  known  as  good  qualities,  which  mark  one  as 
belonging  to  that  nether  region  where  there  is  no  ton, 
— a  dark  borderland,  where  people  say  what  they  think 
without  the  polite  circumlocution  of  society;  where  they 
wear  their  emotions  wrong  side  out ;  where  they  do  noth- 
ing that  they  like  and  everything  that  they  don't  like, 
and  call  it  being  virtuous." 

"  Methinks,  Mr.  Walpole,"  answered  Lady  Philida, 
"  that  real  virtue  is  ever  an  unspeaking  quality." 

Mr.  Walpole  smiled  at  her  benignantly,  shaking  his 
ruffles  back  from  his  wrist  as  he  took  out  his  snuff-box. 

"  Right,  my  dear  child,"  he  answered ;  "  but  believe 
me,  too  much  naievete  in  the  town  is  as  disconcerting 
as  an  ever  newly-painted  bench.  People  would  avoid 
you,  for  the  fear  of  carrying  off  somewhat  of  the  com- 
modity. You  must  put  powder  and  patches  upon  your 
very  opinions.  There  is  nothing  so  indelicate  as  the 
naked  truth." 

"  Think  you  they'd  know  the  truth  if  they  saw  it? 


162  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Methinks  if  it  goes  to  town  it  goes  in  mask  and  domino 
and  comes  not  over  often  in  the  light." 

Mr.  Walpole  shook  his  head  at  her. 

"Ah,  now  you're  jesting,  Lady  Philida,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  vow,  if  you  would  be  popular,  you  must  be 
charmingly  insincere  and  discreetly  artificial.  Put  Louis 
Quatorze  heels  upon  your  heart,  and  learn  to  dance  tp 
the  world's  piping." 

The  girl  peered  round  at  him  archly  from  under  her 
curls. 

"  Oh,  lud,  Mr.  Walpole,  and  what  am  I  to  believe  of 
you?  As  I  came  through  the  orchard  this  morning  I 
happened  on  a  paper  of  scribbled  verses.  I  read  them, 
not  knowing  to  whom  to  attribute  them,  and  it  was  only 
later  that  methought  I  detected  your  hand." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  protested  Mr.  Walpole  in  some  em- 
barrassment ;  "  me  as  a  poet,  I  vow  the  thought  is  absurd. 
Prithee,  give  them  to  me." 

"  Nay,  nay,"  laughed  Lady  Philida,  dancing  ahead  of 
him  out  of  his  reach,  "  methinks  if  you  do  not  know 
them,  then  you  will  hear  them  with  a  better  appetite, 
for  poets  are  ever  modest." 

And  to  the  little  gentleman's  dismay  she  read  them, 
giving  an  exaggerated  lilt  to  the  lines. 

"  Of  sylvan  charm  and  rustic  grace 

My  Chloe! 
Ne'er  was  fashioned  fairer  face, 

My  Chloe! 

Phoebus  amorous  glance  he  threw 
O'er  meadows   dreaming   still   in   dew, 
And  stole  whole  moments  from  the  night 
To  earlier   set  thy   beauty  light, 

My  Chloe! 

"  The  lowing  kine  well  love  thy  call, 

My  Chloe! 

Twould  woo  an  anchorite  to  his  fall, 
My  Chloe  I 


THE    LADY   PHILIDA  163 

Let  wine-breathed  vows  that  false  lips  utter 
Toast  powder  and  patches,  fans  aflutter! 
A  syllabub   I'll   quaff  to  thee, 
Goddess  of  chaste  simplicity, 
My  Chloe !  " 

"  Now,"  ended  Lady  Philida,  looking  up  at  him 
archly,  "  if  you  really  had  written  those  lines,  Mr.  Wai- 
pole,  think  how  inconsistent  you  would  be  appearing  at 
this  moment." 

Mr.  Walpole  helped  himself  to  a  pinch  of  snufi  with 
an  air  of  discomposure. 

"  Faith,  what  poet  is  ever  governed  by  his  muse? 
The  most  rapturous  praises  of  dew-bejewelled  pastures 
have  been  writ  from  a  filthy  attic  in  Grub  Street.  As 
for  this  Chloe,"  he  ended  with  a  shudder,  "  I'm  sure  her 
hands  were  red." 

These  were  not  the  last  words  of  counsel  upon  this 
topic  which  Lady  Philida  was  to  receive  that  day. 

An  hour  later  she  was  seated  in  the  morning-room. 
This  white  panelled  apartment  was  a  cosy  place,  filled 
with  blue  and  white  china,  from  which  breathed  an 
odour  of  spiced  rose-leaves.  The  chairs  were  comfort- 
able; there  were  several  embroidered  screens  to  shut  off 
possible  draughts.  The  sun,  when  it  shone,  cast  full- 
hearted  beams  through  the  broad  many-paned  windows, 
which  were  only  sheltered  by  thin  white  curtains  drawn 
wide,  and  without  the  window  nodded  crimson,  heavy- 
headed  roses. 

Two  King  Charles  spaniels  nozzled  saucy  noses  down 
upon  black  tan-flecked  paws  and  cast  loving  glances  upon 
their  mistress,  who  was  seated  before  the  window.  Some- 
times she  spoke  to  them,  but  oftener  she  gazed  out  wist- 
fully across  the  tessellated  terrace  with  its  bordering  stone 
balustrade,  to  the  blue  sky  beyond.  It  was  a  perfect  day, 
and  the  green  world  was  calling  to  her,  and  here  she  was 


164.  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

tied  to  her  tiresome  embroidery  frame,  doing  a  simpering 
shepherdess  in  cross-stitch.  Truth  to  tell,  the  shepherd- 
ess endured  many  trials,  and  there  was  much  counting 
and  recounting  of  stitches  and  unpicking  of  her  rosy  face 
as  it  progressed. 

Lady  Philida's  black  shoes,  laced  about  her  ankles  with 
black  ribands,  were  set  primly  upon  a  tabouret,  and  traces 
of  mud  upon  them  betrayed  her  early  walk.  Of  this  she 
was  unconscious  as  she  stitched  away  at  the  long-suffer- 
ing shepherdess. 

The  duchess  sat  in  a  large  chair  before  the  hearth, 
sipping  her  morning  chocolate,  her  tortoise-shell  handled 
staff  close  beside  her.  Her  active,  if  somewhat  corpu- 
lent figure  had  no  need  of  this  assistance.  To  the  duchess 
it  was  more  a  moral  support  to  her  dignity,  an  adjunct 
to  her  authority,  than  a  supplement  to  qualities  less  ab- 
stract. 

"  'Tis  now  a  full  hour,  aunt,  since  you  said  you  had 
something  to  tell  me,"  said  Lady  Philida  coaxingly. 

"What's  this,  what's  this?"  cried  the  duchess.  "In 
my  day  young  misses  waited  as  they  should  until  'twas 
the  pleasure  of  their  elders  to  speak.  Pretty  manners 
these!" 

A  dimple  danced  in  Lady  Philida's  cheek. 

"  Nay,  madam,  I  thought  it  was  your  pleasure  to 
know  I  waited  upon  you." 

'  The  impudent  baggage,"  responded  the  duchess,  sip- 
ping her  chocolate  with  an  air  of  mystery.  "  I  would 
seal  up,  if  but  to  punish  thee." 

"  Imp,"  said  Lady  Philida,  addressing  one  of  the  King 
Charles  spaniels,  "  don't  be  impatient,  my  dear,  or  I'll 
box  your  naughty  ears.  'Tis  monstrous  bad  manners." 

The  duchess  laughed,  for  she  knew  it  was  her  own 
spoiling  that  spoke  in  the  wilful  shake  of  the  girl's  head, 
as  she  addressed  the  dog. 


THE    LADY   PHILIDA  165 

"La,  child,"  she  said,  indulgently;  "  I've  as  pretty  a 
tale  for  you  directly  Dorkins  has  removed  these  cups,  as 
any  you  have  listened  to,"  and  she  gave  the  bell-rope  a 
pull. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  after  the  man  had  disappeared 
with  the  tray,  speaking  with  her  hands  upon  the  arms  of 
her  chair,  "  I'll  be  sworn  you  can  never  guess  my  news." 

"  I  confess  I  haven't  an  idea,  and  I've  been  cudgelling 
my  brains  for  an  hour,"  said  Lady  Philida. 

"  What  say  you  to  a  visit  from  our  graceless  neigh- 
bour, Lord  Yerington,  deserter  that  he  is?  He  has 
actually  accepted  the  invitation  of  which  I  told  you, 
though  he  could  scarce  forbear,  considering  the  intimacy 
of  the  families.  Is  not  that  good  news  in  a  neighbour- 
hood like  this,  where  there  are  not  a  dozen  families 
within  driving  distance,  save  hunting  squires,  with  the 
manners  of  hostlers?  " 

Lady  Philida  bent  her  head  low  over  her  embroidery. 
When  she  looked  up,  her  needle  poised  over  her  work, 
her  head  on  one  side,  apparently  absorbed  in  her  handi- 
craft, her  cheeks  were  a  few  shades  deeper  in  their  tinge. 

"  La,"  she  said  indifferently,  "  a  conceited  town  beau, 
I'll  go  bail,  a  brainless  fop,  who  minces  in  his  walk  like 
a  lady,  and  shudders,  I'll  venture,  at  the  sight  of  a  two- 
barred  gate  on  a  frosty  November  morning.  I  wonder, 
ma'am,  if  his  manners  are  so  bad  that  he  comes  to  pay 
his  respects  at  all." 

"  Hoity-toity,"  exclaimed  the  duchess,  "  Yerington 
shudder  at  two  bars?  What  a  jest!  There  is  no  more 
dare-devil  rider  in  the  county." 

"  Then  a  roystering  bully,  I  suppose,  whose  French 
tailor  cannot  turn  a  bear  into  a  man.  It  takes  more  than 
a  fortune  and  a  title  to  make  such  an  one  a  gentleman." 

The  duchess'  staff  tapped  the  floor  smartly. 

"  You  pert  little  minx,"  she  ejaculated,  "  so  to  misery 


166  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

my  old  friend's  son.  A  handsomer,  braver  gentleman 
does  not  exist.  They  are  a  courtly  and  a  dashing  race. 
If  they  are  overfond  at  times  of  their  glass  and  their 
cards,  would  you  be  such  a  prig  as  to  hold  that  up 
against  a  gentleman  ?  And  'tis  well  known  that  a  woman 
hath  ever  had  power  to  cure  them  of  that." 

Lady  Philida's  falling  curls  obscured  her  profile. 

"  A  woman  ?  "  she  repeated.  "  What  woman,  then, 
could  so  control  Lord  Yerington  ?  " 

The  duchess  looked  long  and  lovingly  at  the  slight 
girl's  figure  outlined  against  the  window. 

"  I'll  be  bound  a  wife  could  do  it.  It  has  always  been 
so  with  the  Gowers.  Wilful  and  headstrong,  throwing 
themselves,  soul  as  well  as  body  into  each  venture,  but 
loyal  husbands,  even  if  a  little  wild  at  times.  If  I  did 
not  know  this,  I'd  see  thee  hanged  first." 

Lady  Philida's  needle  dropped  from  her  fingers. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  ma'am  ?  "  she  queried,  her  face 
crimson. 

"  Lud !  "  said  the  duchess,  a  little  taken  aback  by  her 
own  indiscretion.  "  That  madcap  tongue  has  run  away 
with  me,  and  'tis  the  cart  before  the  horse  again,  for 
that  comes  second  in  my  news.  Such  romantic,  silly 
schoolgirls  as  yourself  fancy  that  all  of  life  lies  in  a 
pretty  face  and  a  roguish  eye.  A  day  at  Court  would 
teach  thee  better.  This  hard  old  world  is  all  exchange, 
not  give.  That  sentimental  rubbish  comes  but  in  silly 
love  tales.  Be  a  girl  ever  so  fair,  would  she  gain  a  rich 
and  noble  husband,  she  must  be  dowered  with  something 
more  substantial  than  her  beauty." 

Lady  Philida  had  regained  her  needle,  and  her  fingers 
felt  more  than  one  sharp  prick  as  with  eyes  that  did  not 
see,  she  absently  continued  her  cross-stitch. 

"  Then  am  I  doomed  to  spinsterhood,"  she  said,  "  or 
at  best  to  wed  a  country  booby  squire  and  to  ride  pillion 


THE    LADY   PHILIDA  167 

to  church  of  a  Sunday  in  my  best  tabby,  with  a  head 
two  years  behind  the  mode?  " 

This  picture  so  amused  the  duchess  that  she  laughed 
until  the  tears  came,  while  her  niece  continued  her  em- 
broidery with  an  air  of  mock  despair. 

"  Oh,  lud,  lud,  I've  not  been  so  diverted  this  twelve 
month,"  the  duchess  gasped.  "  And  is  this  your  future, 
my  pet?" 

Lady  Philida  set  her  lips,  and  her  face  grew  serious. 

"  I  would  rather  die  a  spinster  and  be  epitaphed  with 
full  eighty  years  to  my  account,  than  to  know  that  I 
must  bring  my  husband  an  ample  fortune  before  he 
would  consider  of  me.  If  such  a  one  came  a-courting, 
and  I  was  not  the  penniless  maid  I  am,  I  would  curtsey 
low  and  say,  '  Prithee,  your  lordship,  go  make  your  com- 
pliments to  my  bank  account.  It  may  not  blush  for  you 
and  smile  for  you,  but  no  more  will  I,  sir;  for  'tis  it 
you  love,  and  not  my  poor  self,  which  am  poor — poorer 
that  this  same  bank  account  hath  stole  the  possibility  of 
honest  love  from  me." 

The  duchess  shook  her  fontange  reproachfully. 

"  The  same  tune,  child,  ever  the  same  tune.  If  I 
had  not  this  precious  news  up  my  sleeve,  I  vow  I'd  box 
your  ears  for  you.  Thank  the  Lord,  I  had  a  longer  head, 
and  when  the  doting  old  duke  asked  my  hand,  I  threw 
over  a  dozen  of  less  rank  and  fortune  for  him." 

"And  were  you  happy?"  queried  the  girl,  in  a  low 
voice,  wondering  at  her  own  boldness. 

"Happy,"  echoed  the  duchess  triumphantly;  "happy 
I  was,  putting  older  women  who  had  lifted  eyebrows  at 
my  birthday  gowns  where  I  had  always  longed  to  put 
them.  'Twas  power  I  wanted,  and  I  had  it.  I  tell  you, 
child,  wounded  vanity  has  ever  a  keener  smart  and 
lingers  longer  in  the  memory  than  this  pretty  cant  of 
love.  A  shrug  or  a  sneer  had  ever  more  power  to 


168  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

wound  me  than  a  reproach  that  you  would  say  I 
deserved,  you  little  prig.  Happy!  La,  I  was  happy,  and 
I  mourned  Croome  as  if  he  had  been  a  gallant  of  thirty, 
though  truth  to  tell,"  she  added  thoughtfully,  "  I'll  con- 
fess he  had  a  length  of  life  in  him  I'd  scarce  have  guessed 
at  when  I  married  him." 

Lady  Philida  leaned  further  over  her  frame.  Her 
aunt's  casual  references  to  the  late  duke  always  moved 
her  to  laughter,  that  kept  her  on  the  rack  when  he  was 
mentioned.  The  duchess'  unromantic  philosophy  lost 
somewhat  of  its  acrid  tone  in  her  prevailing  kindness. 

"  Now,  I  conjure  thee,  girl,"  she  went  on,  leaning 
earnestly  forward,  "  I  can  give  thee  the  rules  of  St. 
James's  in  a  twinkling,  and  do  you  but  heed  them,  you'll 
never  give  the  nasty  hussies  of  the  Court  an  opening." 

She  emphasised  each  rule  as  she  spoke  it  by  an  im- 
pressive tap  of  her  stick. 

"  Take  care  of  your  manners  and  you'll  give  your 
morals  steady  legs  to  travel  on.  If  you  have  a  pretty 
wit,  hide  it  as  if  it  were  a  sin,  save  to  revenge  thyself 
on  women,  or  to  appreciate  the  men.  Suffer  the  agonies 
of  the  damned  with  a  smiling  face,  but  let  no  scandal 
touch  thee;  rather  than  that  forego,  lie,  live  like  a  nun 
— ever  remember  that  a  woman  spotted  is  a  woman 
spoiled.  Her  worst  enemy  could  not  point  a  spicy  anec- 
dote with  Mary,  Duchess  of  Croome,  and  if  she  had  her 
black  days,  she  had  them  alone." 

A  look  of  iron  resolution  settled  upon  the  duchess' 
face. 

Lady  Philida  read  a  new  phase  in  her,  one  with  which 
she  was  not  familiar.  She  saw  for  the  first  time  her  al- 
most morbid  dread  of  a  breath  of  scandal,  a  quality  which 
was  to  have  an  indelible  influence  upon  her  own  life. 

The  duchess  went  on: 
'  'Tis  not  so  much  to  be  fair  favoured,  as  to  bear 


THE    LADY   PHILIDA  169 

yourself  to  command  homage,  to  claim  it  by  your  sweep. 
Never  snub  a  young  girl,  because  you  never  know  whom 
she  may  marry.  Beware  of  mawkish  sentiment,  for  life 
is  not  all  barley-sugar  and  compliments.  Love  in  the 
country  on  a  thousand  a  year  means  early  grey  hairs  and 
ten  children.  Love  may  die  at  best,  then  see  to  it  that 
you  have  a  palace  to  coffer  it  in,  for  there  at  least  you 
need  not  sit  over  often  with  the  corpse.  Penniless  beauty 
and  worth  will  languish  in  a  corner  while  plainness  and 
a  dowry  lead  in  the  dance.  Take  care,  then,  if  you  have 
both,  that  you  reign  with  a  will,  for  life  is  a  niggard, 
and  pays  only  what  we  ourselves  exact  of  it.  Have  you 
taken  all  that  to  heart,  child  ?  " 

Philida  crossed  her  arms  upon  the  embroidery-frame, 
and  smiled  over  it  at  the  duchess,  whose  impressive 
hands  were  still  upon  the  staff. 

"  Ah,  aunt,"  she  exclaimed,  tenderly,  "  why  does  the 
kindest  heart  in  the  wTorld  choose  to  disguise  itself  thus? 
What  would  this  niece  of  yours  have  done,  if  you,  in 
your  charity,  had  not  taken  her  in,  portionless  and  or- 
phaned?" 

The  duchess  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Tut,  I  could  have  done  no  less  for  the  credit  of  the 
family.  And,  faith,  your  baby  fingers  had  a  cling  to 
them  that  went  to  a  heart  hungry  for  little  ones  that 
never  came.  Yet  I  have  nought  to  give  you,  save  love, 
for  Croome  tied  up  his  money  after  a  scurvy  fashion." 

Lady  Philida  coloured. 

'  'Twas  his,  dear  aunt,  to  deal  with  as  he  chose,"  she 
pleaded. 

This  subject  was  painful  to  her. 

"La,  you  little  fool,  'twas  abominable  of  Croome, 
and  none  but  such  a  baby  as  yourself  would  deny  it." 

The  duchess  took  another  pinch  out  of  her  gold- 
chased  snuff-box,  smiling  to  herself  as  she  did  so. 


170  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Fate,  the  jade,"  she  said  in  a  ruminating  tone,  "  hath 
a  pretty  humour  of  her  own.  She  has  crossed  you  twice. 
First  there  was  your  father.  Charlie  Wentworth  had  his 
ways  and  he  followed  them,  despite  any  advice  of  mine. 
Show  him  some  foolish,  babbling  fellow,  with  some  story 
of  a  wrong,  and  down  went  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 
Show  him  a  penniless  widow  with  babes  and  he  robbed 
his  own  to  succour  them.  He  had  much  to  answer  for. 
He  brought  about  himself  a  colony  of  people  who  traded 
on  his  credulity,  and  he  has  left  you,  as  you  know,  with 
nothing  more  than  an  annuity  that  would  scarce  serve  a 
parson's  daughter." 

Lady  Philida  was  struggling  with  her  tears.  This 
story  never  failed  to  wound  her. 

"  And  I  love  him  for  his  kind  heart,"  she  said  with 
spirit. 

"  Hoity-toity,  had  your  aunt  not  had  a  longer  head, 
where  would  you  be  now,  pray?  The  second  time  Fate 
crossed  your  fortune  was  when  the  duke  died  with  his 
money  tied  round  with  hard  knots  to  keep  it  from  my 
family.  '  A  wastrel  lot,'  he  called  them." 

She  had  come  to  the  pith  of  her  news,  and  she  leaned 
back  now,  thoroughly  enjoying  herself. 

"  After  all,  Charles  Wentworth,  fifth  Earl  of  Chedley, 
had  builded  better  than  he  knew  and  some  of  the  bread 
he  had  cast  upon  the  waters  was  to  return  after  many 
days.  Come,  child,  sit  here  beside  me  and  I'll  give  you 
my  news." 

Her  mood  was  softer  now  and,  as  the  girl  seated  her- 
self on  a  low  stool  beside  her,  she  stroked  her  hair  with 
tender  fingers. 

"  Had  he  seen  you,  I'd  scarce  have  wondered,  but  it 
was  for  Charlie  that  he  did  it.  That  was  well  and  sur- 
prising, too.  All  my  days  I've  seen  rank  weeds  of  in- 
gratitude spring  where  generosity  has  sown." 


THE    LADY   PHILIDA  171 

"  Ah,"  answered  her  niece,  her  face  brightening,  "  see 
how  much  warmer  is  the  heart  of  the  world  than  you 
believe!  " 

The  duchess  proceeded  thoughtfully. 

"  One  day  a  hungry  boy  came  beneath  your  father's 
notice.  He  was  ever  a  haunter  of  book-stalls.  He  was 
enjoying  himself  in  one,  nosing  into  volume  after  volume, 
as  was  his  fashion,  when  his  attention  was  attracted  by 
the  high  voice  of  the  bookseller,  who  was  about  to  eject 
a  lad  who  had  crept  in  to  steal  a  glance  at  some  old 
classics.  Your  father  marked  the  boy,  pale  and  thin, 
as  he  shrank  away,  and  questioned  him.  He  learned  that 
he  was  the  son  of  a  schoolmaster  and  that  this  youth, 
Obediah  Hayworth,  was  orphaned  and  had  been  appren- 
ticed to  a  shoemaker,  but  what  touched  your  father  most 
was  that  he  was  starving,  not  so  much  for  food  as  learn- 
ing. 'Twas  ever  thus  with  Charles.  His  heart  and  his 
pocket  worked  by  a  common  spring.  Touch  the  one 
and  you  opened  the  other.  So  he  set  to  work  to  buy 
him  off  from  the  shoemaker,  sent  him  to  school,  after- 
ward to  college  and  then,  with  a  small  sum  in  his  pocket, 
shipped  him  to  the  Indies." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  urged  the  girl,  all  eyes  and  ears,  for 
all  tales  of  her  father  and  of  his  kindnesses  were  honey 
to  her. 

"  Nothing  more  was  heard  of  him,  and  all  this  went, 
we  thought,  but  to  swell  the  lists  of  benefits  forgot. 
Your  father  always  bore  these  patiently  and  said  that 
good  intentions  blossomed  somewhere,  even  if  we  never 
saw  the  harvest.  I  confess  I've  often  mocked  at  this, 
but  this  Obediah  Hayworth  seems  to  prove  that  he  was 
not  always  altogether  wrong.  Only  this  morning,  and 
this  is  my  rare  titbit,  I  received  a  letter  from  a  solicitor 
in  London,  a  Mr.  Crookshanks,  and  one  I  know  well  by 
reputation.  This  Obediah  Hayworth,  he  told  me,  was 


172  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

dead.  He  had  had  a  strange  career — been  taken  by 
pirates,  enslaved,  and  I  know  not  what  besides;  enough, 
at  all  events  to  account  for  his  silence;  but  when  he 
died,  as  the  result  of  his  dealing  with  the  Indians,  what 
with  his  mines  and  his  ships,  his  fortune  was  one  to  dazzle 
even  me,  and  I  can  take  a  vast  one  without  a  wink." 

"  But  prithee,  where  do  I  come  in  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  That,  my  dear,  is  the  point  of  the  whole  matter. 
He  has  made  you  his  heiress.  Every  guinea  goes  to  you, 
the  daughter  of  his  benefactor." 

The  duchess'  face  was  crimson  with  excitement.  She 
leaned  forward  and  lightly  struck  her  niece  on  the  shoul- 
der with  her  staff. 

"  Rise,  Lady  Philida  Wentworth,  one  of  the  richest 
heiresses  in  England!" 

But  Lady  Philida  did  not  rise.  She  sat  looking  at  her 
aunt  as  if  she  could  not  credit  her  ears.  Then,  as  the 
truth  took  possession  of  her,  a  shadow  fell  across  her 
face,  darkening  into  protest. 

"  I  won't  have  it,"  she  exclaimed  vehemently,  with  a 
movement  as  if  she  pushed  something  from  her.  "  You 
must  not  make  me  take  it.  Let  us  do  something,  give 
it  to  the  poor,  anything.  I  won't,  won't  have  it." 

Her  aunt's  hand  was  laid  heavily  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Horn  mad,"  she  exclaimed,  "  as  mad  as  your  father! 
Ever  this  cry  of  the  poor.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

The  girl  was  now  upon  her  feet  wringing  her  hands 
passionately. 

"  It  means  my  whole  happiness,"  she  cried,  a  sob  in 
her  voice.  "  I  haven't  meant  to  deceive  you,  because  I 
thought  that  you'd  be  happy  and  proud  too  if  you  knew. 
I  wanted  him  to  love  me,  if  love  me  he  would,  without 
title,  without  money,  just  as  a  simple  country  girl.  At 
first  I  persisted  because  it  was  pride,  and  I  was  deter- 
mined he  should  treat  me  as  he  should,  because  I  was  I 


THE    LADY   PHILIDA  173 

— a  woman.  And  afterward  the  game  grew  dear  to  me." 
She  was  catching  her  breath  over  the  words  in  her  ex- 
citement, in  her  regret  at  the  tender  secret  which  was  her 
own  no  longer. 

The  duchess  had  risen,  forgetful  of  her  staff,  in  anger, 
rooted  in  fear. 

"  Good  God !  "  she  ejaculated,  "  this  comes  of  your 
romantic  notions  and  your  racing  over  the  countryside 
like  a  peasant.  I  knew  that  no  good  would  come  of  it. 
What  have  you  been  doing?  Who  is  the  villain?  " 

She  took  her  niece  by  the  shoulders  and  shook  her 
violently. 

Though  Lady  Philida  could  not  at  once  check  her 
sobs,  she  still  had  the  spirit  to  struggle  for  control. 

"  He  is  no  villain,  ma'am,"  she  said,  the  words  com- 
ing muffled  through  her  handkerchief.  "  You  yourself 
have  cried  him  up  to  me." 

"I?"  protested  the  duchess,  "never!  A  low,  skulk- 
ing villain.  Name  him,  miss.  I  swear  I'll  shut  you  up 
on  bread  and  water  until  I  starve  this  nonsense  from 
your  silly  head." 

"  I  cannot  see,"  came  breathlessly  from  behind  the 
handkerchief,  "why  he  was  so  brave  a  man,  so  pretty 
a  gentleman,  so  bold  a  rider  but  a  few  moments  since, 
and  now  because  I  tell  you — I  tell  you — because " 

The  words  would  not  come. 

"  Heaven  grant  me  patience,"  said  the  duchess  be- 
tween her  teeth.  "  Who  is  he?" 

"  Lord  Yerington,"  gasped  the  girl  in  an  agony  of 
shyness. 

This  was  followed  by  so  complete  a  silence  that  Lady 
Philida  grew  frightened  and  looked  up.  The  duchess, 
who  for  a  few  seconds  had  stood  frozen  with  amazement, 
now  collapsed  into  a  chair  and  gazed  at  her  niece  with  a 
sort  of  helpless  indignation. 


174)  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Oh,  you  booby,  you  country  simpleton,"  she  said. 
"  Have  you  been  going  about  by  stealth  with  this  Lord 
Yerington?  And  I  thought  I  guarded  thee.  Is  there 
then  no  special  providence  for  fools?  Come  here.  This 
is  too  serious  for  hide-and-seek.  Tell  me  how  it  came 
about.  How  did  you  meet  him  ?  " 

Bewildered  and  frightened  by  the  seriousness  of  the 
duchess'  face,  for  the  first  time,  too,  realising  that  her 
conduct,  which  appeared  so  natural  to  her,  so  inevitable 
and  right,  might  perchance  be  open  to  another  interpre- 
tation, Lady  Philida  willingly  complied. 

"  'Twas  first  in  London,"  she  began. 

"  In  London,"  echoed  the  duchess,  "  so  far  back  as 
London,  heaven  'fend  us.  And " 

"  Michael  Culpepper  was  ill." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  duchess,  with  a  long-drawn  breath  and 
a  grim  smile.  "  That  mad  foster-mother  of  yours  and 
her  madder  son.  I  could  have  sworn  she  was  at  the 
bottom  of  this." 

"  If  you  are  angry  with  her,  ma'am,"  cried  Philida, 
"  'twill  break  my  heart.  Promise  me  you  will  not  be 
angry  with  her." 

"  I'll  promise  nothing  until  I  know  the  truth,"  said 
the  duchess;  "but  oh,  the  round-faced,  meek-eyed, 
gentle,  timid  women ! "  Her  hand  tightened  vengefully 
upon  her  staff.  "  As  sly  as  the  devil,  and  as  obstinate 
as  a  Scot.  I  know  the  tribe.  Go  on,  girl !  " 

"  Michael  would  neither  eat  nor  sleep.  Believe  me, 
he  was  dying,  ma'am.  Mistress  Culpepper  was  distraught 
with  grief  and  entreated  me  to  go  to  him.  I  seemed  to 
have  more  control  over  him  than  any  other." 

The  duchess  shut  her  eyes  and  swayed  gently  as  she 
spoke. 

"  A  presumptuous  madman  who  dares  to  lift  his  eyes. 
Life  has  been  cruel  to  him,  for  it  has  given  him  genius 


THE    LADY   PHILIDA  175 

and  a  heart.  I  am  grateful  at  this  point  for  your  sim- 
plicity. Say  on." 

"  She  thought — we  both  thought — that  you  would  for- 
bid it." 

"  Which  I  certainly  should  have,"  interrupted  the 
duchess. 

"  And  so  I  borrowed  my  waiting-woman's  clothes ! 
Remember,  it  was  life  or  death." 

"  And  he  did  not  die,"  said  the  duchess  with  a  falling 
inflection  of  finality. 

"No,"  assented  Philida. 

Bit  by  bit  the  whole  tale  was  told  with  pauses  and 
intervals  of  incoherence,  when  the  words  were  mingled 
with  sobs.  Through  the  entire  recital  it  was  pardon  for 
Mrs.  Culpepper  that  the  girl  besought. 

When  she  had  finished,  she  buried  her  face  in  the 
duchess'  lap.  After  an  interval,  with  a  feeling  of  in- 
expressible relief,  she  was  conscious  of  the  stroke  of 
her  aunt's  hand  upon  her  head.  More  than  once,  as  her 
niece  had  spoken,  and  when  her  eyes  were  not  upon  her 
face,  the  duchess  had  smiled. 

"  Well,"  she  said  at  length,  "  his  lordship  comes  to- 
day. If  in  the  past  you  have  forgot  yourself,  see  to  it 
that  you  are  not  too  lightly  won.  Henceforth  I'll  have 
my  eyes  upon  you." 

Lady  Philida  looked  up,  not  over  well  pleased  with  the 
last  hint,  but  she  thought  now  was  her  time  to  make 
terms  if  ever. 

"  I'll  warrant  you  I  led  him  a  dance,"  she  said,  toss- 
ing her  head.  "  But  promise  me,  aunt,  promise  me  now, 
that  you'll  say  nought  of  this  fortune  until — well,  for 
the  present." 

The  duchess  regarded  her  judicially,  then  suddenly 
she  burst  into  low  gurgles  of  laughter. 

"  Well,  girl,   I'll  promise  thee  as  long  as  things  go 


176  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

well  and  I  see  no  need  to  urge  affairs.  I'll  suppress  the 
news.  It  will  come  with  such  eclat  afterward  to  think 
you  won  him  without  a  penny.  It  would  set  the  town 
in  a  roar." 

She  smiled,  looking  before  her  thoughtfully.  Across 
her  mental  vision  passed  a  procession  of  her  old  cronies. 
She  saw  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  her  Grace  of 
Queensberry.  What  a  cachet  it  would  give  her  niece  if 
she  first  captured  this  young  peer  about  whom  half  the 
women  of  London  were  mad,  before  knowledge  of  her 
fortune  came  to  the  public  ears!  She  grew  more  and 
more  enamoured  of  the  idea. 

"  A  mourning  ring  will  suffice  for  Obediah,"  she  said 
thoughtfully,  compromising  with  her  conscience,  as  to 
any  respect  due  to  the  deceased  Mr.  Hayworth. 

Then  she  remembered  Fleet  Street,  and  shuddered  for 
the  girl  within  her  arms.  She  recalled  her  stolen  inter- 
views with  Lord  Yerington. 

"  Oh,  the  baby,"  she  crooned,  with  a  tremor  in  her 
voice,  "  the  little  innocent  baby.  God  bless  and  keep 
thee,  my  darling." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

LORD   YERINGTON   REVIEWS   HIS   OBLIGATIONS 

Came   Melancholy  to  my  side   one   day, 
And  said,  "  I  must  a  little  bide  with  thee ; " 
And  brought  along  with  her  in  company 
Sorrow  and  Wrath. 

— DANTE. 

LORD  YERINGTON  sought  the  library.  It  was  a  shad- 
owy apartment,  pervaded  by  the  odours  of  parchment 
and  leather.  He  knew  that  in  the  carved  Elizabethan 
escritoire  he  kept  three  things  of  which  at  that  moment 
he  was  in  need:  his  brace  of  pistols  and  his  morocco- 
covered  account-book. 

He  seated  himself  where  the  light  fell  across  his 
shoulder,  striking  upon  his  hair  and  causing  the  red  of 
his  riding-coat  to  show  a  spot  of  vivid  colour  in  the 
sombre  room.  He  was  soon  lost  in  calculations  to  which 
he  bent  his  mind  with  determination.  He  was  going  over 
his  accounts.  First,  there  came  a  list  of  pictures  he  had 
recently  purchased  and  for  which  he  had  not  yet  settled. 
The  mockery  of  paying  before  his  death  for  a  rare  and 
costly  collection  that  must  b'e  scattered  after  it,  was 
whimsical.  The  list  went  on;  a  tapestry  of  Flemish 
weave,  wrought  from  cartoons  of  Raphael's  own,  and  in- 
tended for  the  dining-room  at  Grangely  House.  He 
ran  his  ringer  down  various  items — bits  of  precious  china, 
porcelains  of  Japan,  a  new  gilt  coach,  eight  hunters  he 
had  bought  upon  recommendation  and  had  not  yet  rid- 
den; a  long  list  of  jewelled  trifles,  rings,  brooches, 
buckles,  miniature-frames  and  snuff-boxes.  There  were 
cameos  and  intaglios  which  he  intended  to  add  to  his 
already  famous  collection,  ancient  coins,  for  he  had  a 

177 


178  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

nice  appreciation  of  numismatics,  and  kept  an  agent 
always  in  Italy  commissioned  to  obtain  him  rare  ones 
as  they  came  to  light  in  the  desultory  excavations.  There 
were  bills  for  lace  ruffles  from  Paris  or  Brussels,  and 
silk  stockings  from  Lyons.  There  was  endless  mention 
of  brocade,  velvet  or  satin  suits,  embroidered,  laced  ot 
plain.  He  summed  up  the  amounts,  and  they  represented 
a  large  figure,  but  trifling  compared  to  the  ones  that 
were  to  follow  them,  for  he  now  came  to  his  gambling 
debts.  They  ran  down  the  length  of  page  after  page  of 
his  book  with  the  dainty  gold  crest  on  the  back,  and 
amid  them  most  of  the  members  of  White's  appeared 
again  and  again.  It  was  a  veritable  roll-call  of  the 
wildest  sparks  in  the  town.  Those  debts,  too,  he  counted 
and  placed  the  total  at  the  foot  of  each  column.  His 
wealth  had  been  so  invested  as  to  make  him  independent 
of  the  income  of  his  estates.  He  felt  no  surprise  when 
at  the  end  of  his  reckoning  he  realised  that  they  were 
completely  cancelled  by  his  debts.  Rather  it  gave  him 
satisfaction  that  he  would  be  able  to  make  his  exit  even 
with  the  world.  His  sense  of  honour  was  rigid  in  such 
matters.  He  could  pay  all — even  Burroughs. 

He  took  a  pistol  from  the  case  where  it  had  lain  in 
its  bed  of  purple  velvet,  and  examined  it.  It  was 
primed  and  loaded.  Only  the  morning  before  he  and 
Captain  Elliot  had  had  an  hour  of  pistol  practice.  All 
this  he  did  without  hurry,  concentrating  his  mind  upon 
each  detail.  He  was  holding  his  thoughts  resolutely  in 
check.  Once  he  gave  them  play,  he  dared  not  think  how 
far  they  might  carry  him.  It  was  too  late  to  regret. 
He  could  not  retrieve. 

By  his  code,  no  course  but  suicide  was  open  to  him. 
Lord  Mountford's  way  was  the  usual  one  chosen  by 
noblemen  of  that  period.  Mr.  Mansur  had  well  said 
"  An  escutcheon  is  an  awkward  thing  if  you  have  not 


LORD    YERINGTON'S    OBLIGATIONS     179 

wherein  to  house  it."  His  wager  alone,  however,  was 
sufficient  to  make  him  turn  over  the  pistol  and  examine 
it.  Had  Lord  Yerington  won,  Lord  Burroughs'  choice 
would  have  been  between  handing  over  to  him  half  of 
his  fortune  or,  failing  to  do  so,  to  have  foregone  all 
contact  with  his  equals.  In  short,  to  have  become  a 
social  pariah.  A  false  code  it  was,  but  none  the  less 
binding  because  of  that. 

Now  came  the  inevitable  pause  which  he  had  dreaded. 

For  the  first  time  that  morning  an  expression  of  un- 
controllable pain  convulsed  his  face.  Upon  the  escri- 
toire lay  a  letter  he  had  begun  to  Marjorie.  The  sight 
of  it,  for  a  moment,  wrung  the  power  of  action  from 
him.  With  an  effort,  he  drew  the  paper  toward  him. 
In  this  position  he  hesitated  with  it  in  his  fingers  fighting 
for  strength  to  destroy  it.  He  knew,  if  he  read  it,  that  the 
wall  of  misery  that  he  was  holding  back  from  himself 
would  rush  in  and  overwhelm  him.  He  rose  and  paced 
the  floor  in  an  agony  of  increasing  agitation.  Marjorie's 
face  danced  before  his  vision.  Look  where  he  might, 
he  saw  her  and,  if  he  closed  his  eyes,  she  still  was  there. 
He  beheld  her  as  he  had  first  seen  her,  and  then  running 
on  through  her  varying  moods,  laughing,  reproachful, 
arch,  or  with  her  bewitching  touch  of  hauteur,  that  so 
quickly  vanished.  An  inexpressible  longing  seized  him, 
just  to  see  her,  to  touch  her  before  he  went  out  into  the 
dark.  This  became  so  frantic,  that  he  threw  wide  his 
arms  and  shut  his  lips  upon  a  cry.  He  mastered  himself 
and  returned  to  the  escritoire.  He  tore  his  letter  to 
Marjorie  into  shreds.  The  temptation  to  write  her  a 
good-bye  was  strong  upon  him,  but  he  resisted  it.  He 
told  himself  that  if  some  girlish  love  for  him  had  found 
a  place  in  her  heart,  it  would  heal  the  quicker  if  he  went 
in  silence.  The  sooner  she  forgot  the  ruined  profligate 
and  suicide,  the  better. 


180 

He  began  an  epistle  to  Captain  Elliot.    It  ran: 

"DEAR  ELLIOT: 

"Burroughs  has  won  and  I  am  ruined.  Mansur  has  just 
brought  me  the  glad  tidings." 

Here  his  pen  wavered  uncertainly  over  the  paper.  If 
he  informed  Elliot  of  Mansur's  share  in  the  affair,  it 
would  mean,  despite  the  flimsy  promise  given  him,  a  duel. 
He  knew  Mansur's  skill  with  the  small  sword  and  he 
believed  that  Hugh  would  have  little  chance  against 
him.  He  wrote  on:. 

"  You  know  the  terms  of  my  wager,  and  the  forfeit.  I've 
been  a  fool  and  I  must  pay  with  what  is  left  of  me.  You 
would  do  the  same,  were  you  in  my  place. 

"  See  that  my  debts  are  settled.  You'll  find  a  list  of  them 
in  the  brown  morocco  book.  You  and  Crookshanks  must  man- 
age this  between  you.  The  estates  will  cover  them,  I  think. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Hugh.  Had  I  followed  your  advice,  my 
end  might  have  come  after  another  fashion. 

"  Give  my  miniature  framed  in  brilliants  to  Mistress  Mar- 
jorie,  niece  to  Mrs.  Culpepper,  of  the  Royal  Arms.  Tell  her — 
No!  tell  her  nothing,  save  that  it  is  the  gift  of  one  who 
honoured  and  renounced  her. 

"  YERINGTON." 

The  words  came  bravely  off  his  pen,  but  once  they 
were  set  down,  he  could  write  no  more.  He  bowed  his 
head  upon  his  arms,  folded  upon  the  escritoire,  and  dry, 
tearless  sobs  choked  him.  Had  Mansur  known  it,  he 
had  chosen  for  his  coup  the  moment  in  all  Lord  Yering- 
ton's  days  which  wrung  into  it  the  last  drop  of  bitterness. 
Death  he  had  faced  more  than  once  with  a  laugh,  and 
to-day  he  would  have  met  it  with  reasonable  courage,  but 
it  now  came  to  him  just  as  life  was  promising  a  begin- 
ning. In  his  anguish  he  clung  to  the  carved  wood  about 
the  escritoire.  He  was  wrung  to  his  depths  by  the  vain 
longing  that  possessed  him. 

The  emotion  that  he  had  been  holding  in  check  with 


LORD   YERINGTON'S    OBLIGATIONS     181 

grim  resolution,  once  admitted,  surged  on.  Close  upon 
the  heels  of  his  love  and  his  despair,  came  another  sensa- 
tion. A  raucous  hatred  arose  within  him  against  the 
man  who  had  brought  this  upon  him.  It  raged  through 
him,  vexing  him  to  madness.  He  strode  up  and  down 
the  room,  gnawing  his  nails.  The  refuse  of  his  nature, 
which  had  not  hitherto  been  consciously  a  part  of  him, 
floated  to  the  surface.  The  longing  for  revenge  drummed 
in  his  ears.  He  called  himself  a  coward,  a  miserable, 
puling  coward,  not  for  the  meditated  suicide,  but  that 
he  should  have  considered  it  and  bent  his  mind  to  it, 
to  leave  his  enemy  in  the  triumphant  possession  of  the 
very  spoils  for  which  he  had  plotted.  His  heart  leapt  as 
he  remembered  that  his  wager  with  Lord  Burroughs  had 
not  included  a  period  within  which  he  was  to  destroy 
himself.  So  insidious  and  rapid  is  the  spread  of  evil 
that  in  his  hatred  of  Mansur,  he  was  beginning  to  in- 
corporate a  quality  independent  of  it,  almost  opposed  to 
it — a  detestation  of  his  own  world.  No  man  is  so  sus- 
picious as  a  trusting  man  who  has  been  deceived.  His 
faiths  fell  about  him.  What  were  they  all,  Selwyn, 
Williams  and  Walpole — he  recalled  a  dozen  of  his  boon 
companions — but  sycophants,  men  who  supported  his  so- 
ciety for  what  it  meant  to  them:  his  prodigal  hospitality, 
the  nonchalance  with  which  he  lost  to  them,  the  prestige 
of  his  name,  and  fortune?  All  his  life  he  had  scarcely 
given  these  considerations  a  thought;  now  he  realised  the 
significance  they  might  possess  for  others,  only  to  despise 
those  who  valued  them. 

He  continued  his  disordered  walk  to  and  fro,  flinging 
the  furniture  carelessly  to  right  and  left  as  he  did  so. 

"  Die,"  he  thought,  "  not  yet."  And  Mansur !  How  was 
he  to  be  revenged  on  Mansur?  Expose  him  he  could 
not,  while  he  possessed  those  letters  to  contradict  what 
he,  Yerington,  might  say.  Injure  him,  he  might,  but 


182  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

in  a  poor,  weak,  insufficient  way.  He  would  but  find 
himself  involved  in  womanish  exchange  of  accusations 
and  take  his  leave  of  life,  when  he  did  so,  with  a  tar- 
nished dignity. 

His  head  was  bent  as  he  walked,  his  face  concentrated. 
He  was  searching  for  a  revenge  that  would  wring  Man- 
sur's  withers.  Every  suggestion  that  presented  itself  to 
him  he  dismissed  as  trifling  and  inadequate.  In  his  ex- 
citement, it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  seeing  situations 
with  peculiar  clearness;  viewing  things  with  a  special 
accuracy,  and  fine  sense  of  relevancy.  Only  when  he 
should  look  back  on  those  moments  would  he  read  them 
aright. 

Suddenly  his  thoughts  were  arrested,  and  his  walk 
halted  by  Captain  Elliot's  voice.  He,  who  so  seldom 
laughed,  was  laughing  heartily.  The  grotesque  incon- 
gruity of  his  merriment  was  not  lost  upon  Yerington. 
As  the  Captain  burst  unceremoniously  into  the  library,  he 
held  up  an  involuntary  hand  to  restrain  him.  The  young 
soldier,  however,  was  too  absorbed  to  notice  the  gesture, 
and  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  where  he  continued  to 
laugh  with  many  slappings  of  his  thigh. 

Backing  up  against  a  tall  chair,  Lord  Yerington  stood 
watching  his  friend's  transports.  The  tragic  situation  in 
which  he  stood  so  isolated  him  that  Elliot  seemed  almost 
a  stranger. 

"  Oh,  'tis  the  very  prince  of  jokes,"  gasped  the  Cap- 
tain at  length,  "  can  you  believe  it  ?  A  miracle  has  hap- 
pened, Harry,  a  miracle!  Mansur  is — in  love." 

"  In  love,"  echoed  Yerington  meaninglessly. 

"  Yes,  damme,"  cried  Elliot.  "  Your  sawdust  man, 
your  red-lipped,  black-haired,  wooden  man.  Burn  me, 
he  hath  a  heart!  I'll  be  bound,  I  gave  him  credit  for 
possessing  only  a  stomach,  and  a  dirty,  scheming  brain." 

"  A  heart,"  repeated  Yerington. 


LORD    YERINGTON'S    OBLIGATIONS     183 

"  Yes,  and  they  tell  me  it  hath  passed  into  the  posses- 
sion of  the  pretty  Lady  Philida,  the  Duchess  of  Croome's 
niece." 

"  Another  damned  piece  of  acting,"  said  Yerington, 
scarce  above  a  whisper. 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  Captain.  "This  from  you, 
Hal!  Sits  the  wind  now  in  that  corner?  Yesterday  I 
would  have  said  '  ay  '  to  that,  but,  indeed,  this  tale  runs 
like  the  truth." 

"How  came  you  by  the  news?"  asked  Yerington, 
without  changing  his  position. 

"  In  the  stables.  I  was  examining  Pharaoh's  sprain. 
They  did  not  suspect  that  I  was  near,  or  it  may  be  that 
their  tongues  would  have  clacked  less  glibly.  Though, 
faith,  Foulkes  had  given  his  postilions  enough  strong  beer 
to  float  a  two-deck  man-o'-war,  and  their  Discretion 
was  far  below  water-line.  'Twould  have  diverted  you  to 
hear  how  pat  they  had  his  qualities  and  how  much  they 
knew — when  the  distemper  had  seized  him,  how  he  had 
planned  a  farce  rescue  from  highwaymen  to  force  his 
acquaintance  upon  her.  Do  you  recall  those  rascals  we 
met  in  Warwickshire  ?  Egad,  that  was  after  his  method, 
sure." 

"  All  this  means  nothing,"  objected  his  friend. 

A  hope  was  dawning  within  Yerington.  Here  might 
lie  his  revenge.  But  the  very  desire  he  felt  to  believe 
Captain  Elliot's  words  made  him  fear  to  accept  them. 

"  'Tis  easy  to  love  a  fair  lady  near  the  great — and 
well-dowered." 

"  Lady  Philida  is  portionless,  as  all  the  world  knows," 
returned  Elliot ;  "  and  he's  clean  daft  about  her.  He 
scarce  eats,  and  has  lost  a  stone  in  weight.  At  night  he 
steals  out  to  pace  about  like  a  haunted  man.  Methinks 
he  does  not  sit  overmuch  within  the  lady's  liking  and 
that  his  suit  progresses  but  at  a  snail's  pace." 


184  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Lord  Yerington  went  abruptly  to  the  mullioned  win- 
dow and  looked  down  the  wooded  slopes  of  Oxholme  to 
where  the  village  lay  in  the  valley.  As  he  saw  its 
thatched  or  slated  roofs  amidst  their  clustering  green,  his 
eyes  were  heavy  with  pain.  His  life,  even  were  it 
granted  to  him  now,  would  be  a  profitless  thing,  which 
he  would  not  value  at  a  farthing,  if  this  love  of  his  for 
Marjorie  were  to  go  uncrowned.  It  was  by  his  own 
sense  of  loss  and  bitterness  that  he  read  Mansur's.  If  he 
loved  this  Lady  Philida,  here  indeed  was  his  vulnerable 
point. 

To  Lady  Philida  herself,  he  gave  no  second  thought. 
She  was  of  his  world,  and  so  condemned  with  it.  Fair 
ladies'  hearts  were,  he  thought,  but  trifles,  easily  broken 
and  as  easily  healed.  When  they  were  not  treacherous 
and  bad  like  Lady  Caroline's,  they  were  frivolous  and 
light,  like  a  dozen  others  he  could  name.  He  thrust  all 
considerations  of  Lady  Philida  aside.  In  the  perversion 
of  insight  that  his  passionate  craving  for  revenge  had 
induced  in  him,  he  did  not  for  the  time  perceive  that  in 
so  doing  he  had  also  brushed  aside  his  own  honour.  But, 
nevertheless,  he  did  not  look  toward  the  village  with 
which  the  thought  of  Marjorie  was  associated,  when  he 
asked  his  next  question. 

"  Can  we  trust  this  stable  talk?" 

Captain  Elliot's  laughter  had  ceased  and  something 
in  his  friend's  persistence  began  to  arrest  his  attention. 

"  Faith,"  he  answered,  "  I  can't  furnish  thee  with  a 
diagram  of  what  degree  of  heart  or  head  enters  into 
this.  But  I  do  believe,  did  we  but  know,  the  portraits 
our  servants  sketch  of  us  are  more  faithful  than  those 
painted  in  the  withdrawing-room.  We  sit  to  them  un- 
consciously, and  have  not  studied  our  expressions  in  the 
hand-glass.  As  for  this  Mansur,  I'll  go  bail  Lady  Phi- 
lida can  use  his  heart-strings  as  a  lute  and  play  on  them 


LORD    YERINGTON'S    OBLIGATIONS     185 

what  tune  she  fancies.  'Tis  the  fate  one  time  or  another 
of  the  worst  brute  of  us  all." 

Taking  up  his  whip,  he  sauntered,  whistling,  from  the 
room. 

Lord  Yerington  was  left  a  prey  to  his  thoughts. 


CHAPTER    XX 

VANITY   FAIR 

Mit  Woelfe  ich  bin  gluecklich,  heut 

In   cuer  Mitte   zu  weilen, 
Wo  so  vieF  edle  Gemuether  mir 

Mit   Liebe    entgegen    heulen. 

— HEINE. 

YERINGTON  insisted  upon  walking  the  three  miles  to 
Marsden  House.  His  mood  of  intense,  if  suppressed 
feeling,  made  the  confinement  of  a  chaise  intolerable  to 
him.  More  than  once  as  Elliot  swung  along  shoulder 
to  shoulder  with  his  friend,  in  a  walk  intemperate  in 
its  pace,  he  stole  a  surprised  glance  at  him.  Lord  Yering- 
ton's  mouth  and  chin  were  set  in  an  expression  of  un- 
familiar hardness. 

"  Egad,"  the  Captain  observed  at  length,  "  methinks 
the  love-sick  Mansur  brought  you  news  that  has  un- 
leashed some  devil  in  you.  I  vow  I'd  like  not  to  meet 
empty  pockets,  a  pistol  and  such  an  expression  as  you  are 
wearing,  on  Bagshot  Heath." 

"  Perhaps  'twere  better  that  you  did  not,  had  I  just 
staked  my  last  guinea  and  lost,"  answered  Lord  Yering- 
ton.  "A  ruined  gentleman  hath  the  choice  of  a  black 
mask  and  pistols  on  the  Heaths,  like  Dick  Harvey  and 
Sir  Giles,  poor  devils,  or  the  shorter  course  which  Mount- 
ford  and  Bland  chose.  Our  blue-blooded  fingers  are  too 
good  for  honest  labour,  and  so  we  decide  between  villainy 
and  death." 

Elliot  whistled  to  himself  and  turned  the  thought  over 
in  his  practical  head. 

186 


VANITY    FAIR  187 

"  Gad,"  he  said,  "  you  are  right.  Unless,  perhaps, 
there  might  be  offices  within  the  King's  preferment. 
Look  at  Walpole  and  Selwyn." 

"  Selwyn  is  popular,  of  family,  and  this  came  about  by 
ways  he  wots  of.  As  for  Walpole/' — he  snapped  his  fin- 
gers and  laughed,  "  a  Prime  Minister's  son  need  neither 
beg  nor  steal.  For  the  others,  we  know  who  hold  the 
King's  preferments  in  their  gaping,  ugly  Dutch  pockets. 
Were  I  in  bad  case,  I  vow  I'd  rather  starve  than  accept 
favours  from  such  sources,  even  though  I  still  had  suffi- 
cient money  to  lose  to  them  over  cards,  to  coax  forth 
a  living.  Gad's  life,  my  stomach  rises  at  the  thought." 

He  laughed  abruptly. 

"  Methinks,"  he  said,  "  honour  hath  as  many  faces  as 
a  Hindoo  god.  'Tis  a  piebald,  harlequin  thing,  into 
which  we  weave  the  colours  of  our  own  convenience. 
Yet  at  some  grotesque,  irrelevant  consideration,  it  will 
stay  our  hand  capriciously  at  this  or  that." 

He  stole  a  sidelong  look  at  Captain  Elliot. 

"What  say  you  to  your  friend  as  philosopher?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  like  him  vilely,"  answered  Elliot,  with  a  touch  of 
grimness. 

They  continued  their  rapid  walk  in  silence. 

They  did  not  enter  by  the  great  gate,  but  by  a  small 
door  in  a  wall  and  .thence  across  a  sweep  of  lawns,  to 
where  the  sharp  Tudor  gables  of  the  house  showed  be- 
tween the  trees.  They  passed  through  a  garden,  lined  by 
prim  box-hedges,  cut  here  and  there  into  quaint  shapes, — 
birds,  or  animals.  Midway  in  their  course  stood  a  foun- 
tain; tiny  streams  played  from  the  beaks  of  stone  swans 
and  within  it  goldfish  glittered.  Marsden  House  faced 
this  garden. 

Before  it  upon  the  terrace,  a  group  of  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen was  gathered.  As  Yerington  perceived  them,  his 


188  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

expression  changed.  For  three  weeks  he  had  been  a 
happy  exile  from  Vanity  Fair  which  he  was  about  to  re- 
enter.  Behind  him  lay  all  that  he  valued — Majorie,  and 
her  courage,  truthfulness  and  simplicity — before  him  his 
own  world — glitter,  polish,  compliment,  insincerity,  vice 
that  scarcely  deigned  to  clothe  itself  in  decent  seeming. 
There  they  stood,  he  told  himself  savagely, — Walpole, 
fop,  poseur,  as  empty  as  his  polished  phrases;  Sir  Geof- 
frey Baxter,  a  drunken  fool;  the  duchess,  hard  and 
worldly,  who  had  routed  Sarah  of  Marlborough  in  more 
than  one  skirmish, — quick  of  wit,  coarse  of  tongue,  and 
who  had  sold  her  young  life  to  a  gouty,  decrepit  old  peer 
and  gloried  in  her  bargain.  He  covered  them  all  with 
the  mantle  of  his  condemnation.  It  stirred  his  acrid 
humour  to  consider  how  they  would  bow  to  him  and 
court  him,  and  to  fancy  how  their  smiles  would  fade 
and  their  looks  grow  absent  at  his  approach,  did  they 
but  know  the  case  in  which  he  stood.  He  would  give 
these  smiling  hypocrites  a  run.  He  had  the  day  before 
him,  in  which  he  meant  to  make  these  grinning  puppets 
dance  as  he  piped. 

He  exulted  as  he  thought  of  Mansur. 

As  for  this  Lady  Philida,  whom  he  was  to  employ  in 
his  revenge,  doubtless  she  was  as  the  others,  trained  to 
deception  from  her  cradle,  an  apt  pupil  of  the  worldly 
duchess. 

Their  hostess  perceived  their  approach,  and  advanced 
to  the  top  of  the  steps  to  receive  them.  She  was  an  im- 
pressive figure  in  her  towering  head-dress,  with  her  staff 
in  her  hand. 

"  Lud,  Harry,"  she  called  out  to  him,  "  I  wonder  you 
could  find  the  way.  I  protest  that  a  more  graceless 
neighbour,  a  greater  niggard  of  his  precious  time,  I  have 
never  met." 

The   two   gentlemen  were  sweeping  profound   bows, 


VANITY    FAIR  189 

but  she  interrupted  Yerington's  gallant  speeches  and  at- 
tempts at  defence. 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  "  no  compliments.  Perjure 
yourself,  for  perjure  themselves  men  will,  but  don't 
waste  your  soul's  welfare  upon  me,  for  I  shall  not  be- 
lieve a  syllable." 

"  Have  I  your  forgiveness,  your  grace,  if  I  mend  my 
ways?  "  asked  Yerington. 

"  La,  you  hypocrite,"  cried  the  duchess,  stabbing  at  him 
with  her  staff,  "  I'll  believe  in  your  mending  as  you  prove 
it.  And  there  is  your  friend,  Captain  Elliot." 

She  turned  a  keen  scrutiny  upon  that  soldier. 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  she  said,  "  that  your  coat  is  the  colour 
of  your  courage  when  you  face  the  enemy  and  not  the 
colour  of  your  narratives  when  you  tell  of  your  engage- 
ments." 

"  Faith,  your  grace,"  answered  Captain  Elliott,  "  'tis 
more  the  colour  of  my  cheeks  when  I  greet  a  lady." 

"  You'll  do,"  said  the  duchess  approvingly.  "  I  love 
a  soldier  when  he  is  brave  of  heart  and  of  modest  mien. 
'Tis  a  pity  that  the  Scot  speaks  over  plainly  in  your  face." 

'  'Tis  a  matter  in  which  I  had  not  the  choosing,"  an- 
swered the  Captain,  with  exemplary  meekness,  for  he  had 
a  fierce  love  of  his  braes  and  mountains. 

"  I'll  not  gainsay  you,"  she  said.  "  I'll  go  bail,  had 
we  all  the  choosing  we'd  be  born  of  English  fathers  and 
fair  mothers." 

Walpole  approached,  waving  them  an  airy  greeting. 

"  Renegades  from  the  court  of  beauty  and  wit,"  he 
cried ;  "  Calibans  who'd  lurk  in  cavern  darkness  when 
paradise  was  breathing-space  away!  Ton  honour,  your 
crime  carries  its  own  punishment." 

''How  goes  it  with  you,  Walpole?"  asked  Lord  Yer- 
ington. 

"  Of  the  best,"   answered  that  little  gentleman,   "  I 


190  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

set  my  watch  by  my  gout.  A  twinge  once  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  a  wind  up  in  every  joint  on  the  hour. 
But  'tis  but  a  valse  caprice,  and  not  the  dead  march  that 
kept  me  chained  at  Strawberry  Hill." 

"  He  deserves  it,"  said  the  duchess  severely.  "  A  man 
who  denies  himself  honest  English  beef  and  port  of 
'29!" 

She  noted  Yerington's  wandering  eyes.  They  were 
observing  a  young  girl  clad  in  a  white,  lute-string  gown, 
a  broad  Tuscan  hat  set  upon  her  blond  hair.  She  was 
engaged  in  an  animated  conversation  with  Sir  Geoffrey 
Baxter.  That  young  dandy  was  obviously  well  pleased 
with  himself  and  his  compliments.  Their  quality  was 
well  within  Lord  Yerington's  knowledge,  and  he  smiled 
cynically  as  he  heard  the  damsel's  bursts  of  appreciative 
laughter.  If  the  dancing  eyes  beneath  the  Tuscan  hat 
had  noted  his  approach,  they  did  not  betray  it  by  a  glance. 
He  dubbed  her  coquette  before  he  had  bowed  his  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  duchess'  introduction.  The  laughing 
beauty's  qualities  he  saw  in  outline,  and  these  outlines  of 
character  he  himself  rilled  in  with  colours  ground  on 
the  palette  of  his  own  experience. 

"  La,  you  saucy  baggage !  "  the  duchess  exclaimed, 
"  you'll  spoil  Sir  Geoffrey.  Let  me  present  my  neighbour, 
Lord  Yerington.  This,  Harry,  is  Mistress  Sybil  Army- 
tage,  the  saddest  flirt  in  Christendom." 

Mistress  Sybil  Armytage  swept  a  low  curtsey  with  a 
ravishing  flash  of  her  eyes  at  the  tall  man,  who  stood  a 
little  pale  and  plainly  taken  aback,  after  he  had  made 
her  his  flourish. 

"  But  harmless,  since  I'm  labelled,"  she  said  saucily 
with  a  little  pout. 

"  But  I  understood  your  niece "  half  stammered 

Yerington,  turning  to  the  duchess. 

He  had  been  pursuing  his  own  thoughts,  had  been  so 


VANITY    FAIR  191 

intent  upon  his  purpose,  that  he  was  thrown  off  his 
guard  and  confused. 

The  duchess  was  mischievously  amused  when  he  came 
to  a  pause  at  a  loss  for  a  word. 

Mistress  Sybil's  laugh  was  full  of  real  enjoyment. 

"  La,  my  lord,"  she  said,  "  you  thought  you'd  see  the 
sun,  I'm  only  the  poor,  sickly  moon,  for  which  I  hum- 
bly beg  your  pardon.  -The  matter  is  quickly  mended. 
Hither  comes  the  central  luminary." 

She  pointed  a  slender  finger  over  his  shoulder. 

A  conviction  took  possession  of  Lord  Yerington  that 
he  was  about  to  encounter  Mansur,  to  meet  together 
the  pair  associated  in  his  scheme  of  retaliation.  Hard 
and  bitter  he  had  been  ever  since  he  entered  upon  his 
resolve,  but  at  this  moment  there  arose  within  him  a 
sense  of  fiercer  antagonism.  He  turned,  the  foremost 
thought  in  his  mind,  not  to  face  the  lady,  so  laughingly 
pointed  out  to  him,  but  his  erstwhile  friend. 

Mr.  Mansur  could  scarcely  conceal  his  surprise  at  his 
presence.  The  calm,  polished  gentleman  who  had  in- 
sulted him  at  Oxholme  with  so  finished  a  grace,  now 
revealed  to  him  a  face  icily  perfect  in  its  control.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  sudden  tremor  of  something  like  fear. 
He  had  not  expected  this.  He  knew  that  peer's  code 
and  had  counted  upon  it  without  question.  He  possessed 
the  crowning  requisite  of  a  successful  scoundrel,  an  ap- 
prehension of  qualities  in  the  men  with  whom  he  dealt, 
of  which  he  himself  did  not  possess  the  rudiments. 

For  an  instant  Lord  Yerington  held  his  gaze  before 
he  turned  to  the  girl  standing  beside  him. 

The  duchess  was  speaking,  but  he  heard  no  syllable. 
He  took  an  uncertain  step  forward.  All  the  height  and 
breadth  and  depth  of  his  world  had  concentrated  into 
the  compass  of  one  girl's  face.  She  was  looking  at  him 
with  eyes  half  appealing,  half  expectant.  He  feared  he 


192  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

was  losing  hold  upon  himself.  The  thought  flashed 
through  his  mind  that  he  did  not  see  aright  and  that 
he  was  reading  one  face  into  every  woman's  upon  whom 
he  gazed. 

He  turned  towards  the  duchess. 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  your  grace,  but  I  thought  your 
niece " 

Again  he  was  unable  to  continue.  He  was  resolved 
not  to  look  toward  the  spot  where  he  thought  his  fancy 
had  deceived  him. 

The  duchess  was  persuaded  that  she  read  his  evident 
chagrin  aright  and  endeavoured  to  pass  off  the  situation. 

"  Yes,  'tis  Philida,"  she  said.  "  When  last  you  saw 
her  she  was  but  a  child.  But  these  children  will  grow  to 
womanhood,  much  as  we  may  wish  to  keep  them  babies. 
Come  hither,  you  little  minx,  and  make  your  bow  to  Lord 
Yerington." 

Lady  Philida  approached  and  swept  a  low  curtsey. 
She  was  filled  with  trepidation,  her  eyes  mutely  en- 
treated him. 

Lord  Yerington  looked,  gave  an  apologetic  laugh,  and 
looked  again.  A  conviction  was  growing  upon  him  that 
was  freezing  the  last  remnants  of  his  better  nature. 

Lady  Philida  and  Majorie  were  one. 

To  assure  himself  he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 
There  was  no  mistaking  its  suppleness,  nor  its  mag- 
netic touch.  As  he  straightened  himself,  he  smiled  at  her 
from  the  surface  of  his  eyes. 

"  Lady  Philida,  my  compliments,  indeed  you've  changed 
since  last  I  saw  you.  Prithee,  my  dear  duchesss,  accept 
my  congratulations.  Your  niece  will  do  honour  to  the 
Court.  For  the  moment  I  thought  I  had  seen  her  else- 
where. The  Lady  Philida,  I  hope,  will  pardon  me," 
he  turned  to  her  with  a  courtly  gesture,  "  when  I  ex- 
plain that  the  maid  for  whom  I  mistook  her  is  ex- 


VANITY   FAIR  193 

ceedingly  fair.  Though  truth  to  tell,  'twas  but  a  super- 
ficial resemblance."  He  raised  his  quizzing-glass,  looked 
about  him  and  took  them  all  into  his  confidence,  with  an 
air  of  indolent  candour.  "  For  the  maid  I  mention  was 
but  a  simple  country  lass,  as  unlearned  in  the  secret  of 
many  of  Lady  Philida's  charms,  I'll  warrant,  as  the  veri- 
est booby." 

The  duchess  flushed,  and  glanced  an  angry  challenge 
at  her  niece,  who  stood  the  picture  of  dismay  and  be- 
wilderment. 

"  A  pretty  mess  you've  made  of  it,"  her  eyes  tele- 
graphed. 

"  My  niece  is  a  baby,"  she  went  on  to  Yerington,  "  a 
gaby,  if  you  will,  but  a  baby  for  all  that.  A  woman 
only,  in  that  she  is  more  given  to  controlling  others  than 
herself." 

She  turned  aside,  and  began  a  conversation  with  the 
remaining  guests.  They  had  been  on  the  tiptoe  of  curi- 
osity, for  the  scene  just  enacted  was  mysterious,  but  they 
could  not  but  fall  into  line  when  their  tyrannical  hostess 
cracked  the  conversational  whip. 

The  duchess  was  not  given  to  coercing  her  own  moods. 
It  was  the  last  moment  in  which  to  leave  the  frightened 
and  inexperienced  girl  unsupported.  Discretion  should 
have  counselled  her  to  assist  Philida  in  her  dilemma. 
But  her  temper  was  aroused  and  for  the  moment  pru- 
dence was  forgotten. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

A  GIRL'S   HEART 

Instead   of  oil   and   balm, 

Thou  lay'st  in  every  gash  that  love  hath  given  me 
The  knife  that  .made  it. 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

LORD  YERINGTON  stood  looking  down  upon  this  girl, 
noting  her  conflicting  emotions  without  an  impulse  of 
relenting.  Her  hands  clasped  and  unclasped  and  the 
colour  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks.  She  could  never 
have  imagined  Lord  Yerington  in  the  guise  in  which  she 
now  met  him.  She  was  untrained  in  all  weapons  with 
which  to  parry,  save  that  of  pride. 

A  few  feet  away,  Mansur  watched  them  furtively.  He 
was  seeking  for  a  solution  of  the  riddle.  Until  a  glim- 
mering knowledge  came  to  him  of  the  channel  to  which 
he  had  best  confine  himself,  he  chose  silence.  He  was 
conscious  that  a  power  was  dominating  his  life  stronger 
than  any  which  had  hitherto  entered  it.  This  influence 
was  struggling  within  him,  threatening  his  self-control, 
and  obscuring  his  nice  judgment. 

Yerington  stood  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  Egad,  your  ladyship,"  he  said,  "  but  I  owe  you  a 
thousand  apologies.  'Pon  my  life  I  do.  For  whom, 
think  you,  I  mistook  you?  Prithee,  promise  me  in  ad- 
vance to  forgive  or  I'd  scarce  have  courage  to  tell  you. 
'Twas  for  simple  Mistress  Marjorie,  the  niece  of  Mis- 
tress Culpepper  of  the  Royal  Arms.  'Twas  a  scurvy 
blunder  and  one  your  ladyship  would  resent  with  rea- 
son." 

Her  spirit  was  overcoming  her  embarrassment. 
194 


A   GIRL'S   HEART  195 

"And  why,  my  lord,  should  you  apologise?  Was  not 
this  maid,  Mistress  Marjorie,  one  who  knew  her  own 
worth  and  dignity  ?  "  she  asked. 

Lord  Yerington  laughed,  his  eyes  hard. 

"  Faith,  she  did,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  Like  her  sis- 
ters of  another  rank,  she  well  knew  how  to  draw  a  man 
on.  Virtue  and  dignity  in  an  innkeeper's  niece !  I  cannot 
but  laugh  when  I  remember  how  well  she  played  her 
cards.  Truth  to  tell,  your  ladyship,  I  know  such  sim- 
plicity will  divert  you,  but  I  was  half  distracted  with 
such  goodness  in  such  a  setting.  Your  ladyship  will  ob- 
serve, that  it  was  a  very  pastoral." 

Lady  Philida's  fan  snapped  in  her  trembling  fingers. 
The  sound  recalled  vividly  to  Lord  Yerington's  mind  a 
scene  with  another  lady,  a  lady  of  virtuous  poses,  whom 
from  his  heart  he  had  revered,  until  she  threw  away 
her  disguise  in  a  burst  of  passion.  The  action  and  the 
sound  linked  Philida  more  intimately  with  that  moment 
of  his  disillusion.  He  had  been  befooled  thrice  where 
he  most  trusted,  and  he  knew  not-  how  many  times  be- 
sides. It  all  read  so  clear  in  the  exaggeration  of  the 
shock,  which  had  unseated  his  cooler  judgment. 

Philida  looked  back  bravely  into  his  cynical  face. 

"  This  Mistress  Marjorie,  I'm  told,"  she  said,  "  owes 
you  a  debt  which  no  act  of  hers  could  wipe  away,  or 
balance.  That  consciousness  she  must  carry  to  her  grave. 
It  would  be  sad,  indeed,  my  lord,  if  you  made  that  obli- 
gation, for  which  I  doubt  not  she  each  day  prays  a 
blessing  on  your  head,  a  burthen  also." 

Lord  Yerington  flippantly  dangled  his  cane. 

"  Spud  me,  if  I  see  the  debt.  That  morning,  if  I 
mistake  not  the  circumstance  to  which  you  refer,  I 
went  out  in  search  of  novelty.  I  had  found  the  West 
End  an  awful  bore.  Faith,  I  was  like  to  perish  with 
sheer  ennui" 


196  A   DISCIPLE    OP   CHANCE 

He  paused,  tapping  his  shoe  buckles  with  his  cane,  and 
did  not  see  the  growing  sorrow  and  disillusion  in  Lady 
Philida's  face  as  she  listened. 

"  When  in  idleness  I  wandered  up  that  narrow  way 
and  heard  that  cry  for  help,  egad,  I  knew  not  what  lay 
at  the  other  end  of  the  adventure,  nor  did  I  care.  I 
was  but  seeking  for  something  to  stir  my  blood.  I'd 
have  fought  the  worst  rogue  unhanged,  did  it  but  give 
employment  to  my  sword.  Upon  honour,  I  have  to 
thank  Mistress  Marjorie  for  five  minutes'  divertissement 
with  a  swordsman  I  remember  now  with  a  leap  of  the 
heart.  Would  I  could  meet  him  again.  That  alone  was 
worth  two  such  mornings." 

"And  you  had  no  thought  of  Mistress  Marjorie?" 
she  said,  her  voice  thrilling  with  pain. 

"  Mistress  Marjorie,"  he  repeated,  as  if  he  recalled 
the  memory  with  an  effort ;  "  I  liked  her  well.  She 
had  a  pretty  spice  of  spirit.  Egad,  methinks  we  did  not 
do  badly  in  our  meadow  idyll." 

"  Oh,"  burst  out  the  girl  with  flashing  eyes.  "  You 
coxcomb!  How  dare  you  boast,  sir,  how  dare  you  boast!  " 

She  was  twisting  the  broken  sticks  of  her  fan  between 
her  fingers,  forgetting  everything  but  her  burning  indig- 
nation. 

Lord  Yerington  looked  at  her  with  a  bold  stare. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  slowly,  "  does  the  Lady  Philida  speak 
there,  or  is  it  Mistress  Marjorie?  I  am  but  a  poor  male, 
who,  though  no  saint  himself,  is  still  but  a  clumsy  ap- 
prentice in  these  ladies'  arts  of  impersonation." 

"  Your  words  are  unworthy,"  cried  Philida,  her  breast 
heaving.  "  I'm  no  such  actress  as  you  claim,  and  you 
know  it  well." 

He  spread  his  hands  abroad  affectedly. 

"  Prithee,  fair  lady,  how  am  I  to  know,  who  am  I 
to  believe?  Par  exemple,  who  are  you  now?  Marjorie" 


A    GIRL'S   HEART  197 

— he  bowed  low — "or  the  Lady  Philida?"  He  bowed 
lower. 

All  her  pride  was  in  arms.  An  increasing  fear  pos- 
sessed her  that  she  had  already  betrayed  her  heart  to 
him.  Her  guiding  impulse  became  a  desire  to  blot  out 
such  an  impression  from  his  mind. 

"  The  Lady  Philida,  an'  please  you,  sir."  She  curtsied 
with  a  derisive  flourish  as  deep  as  his  own.  "  And  she 
bids  you  '  commend  her  counterfeiting.'  " 

"  Commend  it  I  do,"  he  answered  gallantly,  "  I  know 
but  one  fair  dame  who  could  have  bettered  it,  and 
she  counted  more  years  to  her  credit  than  does  your 
ladyship.  Doubtless  you  will  equal  her  in  time." 

"  We  are  born  to  counterfeiting,"  said  Lady  Philida, 
with  an  air  of  gaiety,  bent  on  her  resolve  of  concealment. 

"  I  protest  I  believe  you/'  he  answered,  "  and  that  but 
scarce  twenty-four  hours  in  town  will  instruct  you  in 
all  the  wiles,  in  which  it  may  chance  the  country  leaves 
you  uninformed." 

"  La,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  toss  of  her  curls  to  disguise 
her  quivering  lip,  "  we  don't  need  the  city  for  a  school- 
master. I  can  make  my  cheeses,"  and  she  swept  him  a 
deep  one,  "  as  well  as  if  I  had  attended  a  dozen  of  the 
royal  levees." 

She  was  acting  with  a  heart  that  pounded  pitifully. 
Yerington  swung  his  hat  across  his  own,  and  they  sa- 
luted one  another,  while  Mansur  stood  puzzled. 

Philida  caught  her  breath  sharply,  for  tears  were 
threatening  her.  She  feared  each  second  they  might  fight 
above  her  pride.  She  had  not  the  strength  to  parry  with 
him  longer.  Involuntarily  she  turned  to  the  group  who 
conversed  aside.  The  duchess  looked  up,  reading  danger 
in  her  niece's  flushed  face  and  eyes  unnaturally  bright. 

"  Sybil,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  Philida  lightly,  "  you're 
a  baby  for  all  your  five  seasons,  and  I'll  prove  it." 


198  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Prove  it,"  echoed  the  duchess  in  alarm ;  "  you  prove 
yourself  a  little  ninny, — nothing  more  nor  less.  Hold 
your  tongue ! " 

"Nay,"  cried  Philida,  "listen!" 

To  the  duchess'  speechless  indignation,  she  captured 
her  staff  and  assumed  an  air  of  authority,  pursing  up 
her  lips,  frowning,  and  flourishing  the  rod  in  so  perfect 
an  imitation  of  her  aunt's  manner  that  Mistress  Sybil 
led  the  way  in  a  burst  of  laughter.  The  others  followed 
in  spite  of  themselves  and  in  wholesome  fear  of  their 
hostess'  displeasure. 

•"  Now,  I  will  give  you  the  rules  of  St.  James's  in  a 
twinkling,"  began  Philida,  tapping  with  the  cane,  and 
blowing  out  her  cheeks.  "  Do  you  but  follow  them,  and 
you'll  never  give  those  hussies  at  the  Court  an  opening." 

One  by  one  they  came  glibly  off  her  tongue,  amid 
rounds  of  applause.  She  laid  a  special  emphasis  upon 
the  words: 

"  My  children,  love  will  die  at  best,  then  see  to  it 
that  you  have  a  palace  to  coffer  it  in,  and  then  you  need 
not  sit  over  often  with  the  corpse." 

"  Her  Grace  of  Queensberry  to  the  life,"  gasped  Wai- 
pole,  tactfully  seeking  to  trail  a  herring  across  the  path 
that  pointed  towards  the  duchess. 

That  dame  was  divided  between  fury  at  her  niece's 
audacity  and  a  chuckle  at  her  clever  caricature,  which 
she  could  not  deny. 

As  Lady  Philida  stood  before  them  a  moment  amid 
the  clap  of  hands,  but  two  observers  read  her  aright. 
These  were  Captain  Elliot  and  Mr.  Mansur.  To  Sybil 
and  Walpole  she  was  a  prankish  girl  bent  upon  a  whim 
that  diverted  them.  To  the  duchess  she  was  a  puzzle, 
and  one  she  meant  to  catechise  sharply  later  on.  She 
knew  she  had  spoiled  the  child,  but  she  had  never  before 
indulged  in  so  daring  a  flight  as  this.  To  Sir  Geoffrey 


A   GIRL'S   HEART  199 

she  was  a  beautiful  girl,  whom  it  pleasured  him  to  watch 
without  troubling  his  stupid  head  about  attractions 
more  potent. 

To  Lord  Yerington's  jaundiced  view,  rendered  ob- 
jective by  his  unsympathetic  attitude,  she  was  what  she 
appeared  to  be,  callous  and  shallow.  But  Captain  El- 
liot noted  her  excitement,  for  which  he  saw  no  adequate 
cause,  and  he  looked  toward  Yerington  and  frowned. 
Mansur  had  been  puzzled  by  the  conversation  he  had 
overheard,  but  having  known  Lady  Philida  in  her  dis- 
guise, he  guessed  at  much  and  thought  he  saw  an  op- 
portunity to  widen  the  breach  and  revenge  himself  fur- 
ther upon  Lord  Yerington. 

Philida  did  not  possess  the  trained  hardness  with  which 
to  sustain  the  situation  she  had  created.  She  felt  her 
self-control  beginning  to  go  and  resolved  upon  retreat, 
but  contrived  to  make  it  an  airy  one.  With  a  laugh, 
and  a  merry  glance  at  her  aunt,  as  if  she  knew  how 
much  she  deserved  punishment,  and  was  in  no  mood  to 
stay  for  it,  she  turned  away  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
played  an  imaginary  tune  upon  the  stone  balustrade  with 
her  ringers,  and  walked  off  swinging  her  hat,  the  picture 
of  wilful  impenitence. 

The  irate  duchess  watched  her  go  across  the  terrace, 
trip  down  the  broad  steps,  and  lose  herself  in  the  Italian 
garden,  before  she  gained  voice. 

"  Lud,"  she  gasped,  raising  her  hands,  and  not  deign- 
ing to  reach  for  the  staff,  which  Philida  had  left  out  of 
easy  grasping  distance,  "  if  she's  like  this  here,  the  Lord 
knows  what  she'll  be  like  in  town." 

She  caught  Sybil  smothering  a  laugh,  and  turned  to 
her  wrathfully. 

"  This  is  your  work,  you  impudent  baggage,  putting 
notions  into  the  child's  head." 

Mr.   Walpole  poised  upon   his   red-heeled   shoes  and 


200  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

shook  out  a  lace-bordered  handkerchief  that  wafted  far 
the  scent  of  patchouli. 

"  Nay,  duchess,  I  protest,  these  high  spirits  have  a 
fascination  that's  all  the  Lady  Philida's  own,  and  all 
the  young  beaux  of  the  town  will  be  mad  about  her. 
What  charm  will  those  vapourish  ladies  have,  patterned 
upon  one  another,  against  these  pretty  outbursts  of  Eve, 
as  refreshing  as  the  Garden  of  Eden  itself !  " 

"  La,  go  away,  you  rake,"  cried  the  duchess.  "  But 
methinks  the  child  has  some  of  my  spirit." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THRUST   AND   PARRY 

Plague  on't  that  he  should  return  to  tease  me  just  now. 

— SHERIDAN. 

LORD  YERINGTON'S  and  Mr.  Mansur's  eyes  had  followed 
Philida  as  she  vanished  into  the  Italian  garden.  From 
there  the  refrain  of  a  song  floated  back  to  them  at  inter- 
vals. Their  gaze  met,  though  neither  moved,  each  await- 
ing the  other's  action.  The  situation,  however,  was  in- 
terrupted. The  duchess  spoke  to  Yerington  and,  as  he 
responded,  Mansur  wheeled  about  and  sought  the  spot 
whence  Philida's  voice  came  to  them  in  snatches. 

Yerington  watched  Mr.  Mansur,  as  he  drew  nearer 
to  the  figure  flitting  amongst  the  flowers.  When  his  re- 
plies became  absent  and  wide  of  the  mark,  the  duchess 
dismissed  him  with  a  laugh. 

"  La,"  she  said,  "  go  to  her,  you  oaf!  " 

With  a  hasty  bow  he  obeyed  her,  not  waiting  to  make 
a  compliment  or  an  excuse. 

In  the  meantime  Philida  was  standing  beneath  the 
Italian  pergola  in  a  frame  of  roses,  the  sun  flecking  her 
with  light. 

Mr.  Mansur  could  not  have  chosen  a  worse  moment 
for  his  approach,  for  a  womanish  impulse  possessed  her 
to  vent  on  him  a  little  of  what  Lord  Yerington  had 
made  her  suffer. 

"  I  wonder  you  come,  Mr.  Mansur,  when  'tis  my 
humour  to  be  alone,"  she  said  wilfully,  half  turning  from 
him. 

He  stood  before  her,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  all  his 
201 


202  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

ready  phrases  flown.  His  love  for  her  was  so  honest 
that,  despite  himself,  it  made  him  honest.  He  was  baf- 
fled by  a  sense  of  helpless  adoration.  This  told  in  his 
eyes  as  he  looked  at  her.  His  was  a  dark,  strong  face, 
and  attractive  to  many  women  in  its  masterfulness,  but 
at  this  moment  it  moved  Philida  to  the  point  of  ex- 
asperation. Most  women  are  at  bottom  tyrants  until 
love  tames  them  and,  sometimes,  even  then. 

Lady  Philida  picked  the  rose  she  held  in  her  fingers 
to  pieces,  petal  by  petal,  while  Mansur  watched  her. 

"  Prithee,  have  you  no  tongue,  sir  ? "  she  asked  at 
length,  with  a  glance  from  her  blue  eyes  with  their  dark 
pencillings. 

He  pointed  to  the  rose. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  you've  torn  it  bit  by  bit  and  yet,  for 
all  that,  its  heart  was  golden." 

She  twisted  the  stem  about  in  her  fingers,  pretending 
not  to  understand. 

"  So  it  is,"  she  said  indifferently.  "  Yet  how  much 
more  lovely  was  the  rose  when  its  heart  was  hidden! 
Now  it  has  neither  perfume  nor  beauty."  She  threw  it 
carelessly  aside.  "  Your  phrases  are  so  deep,  Mr.  Man- 
sur, I  protest  I  cannot  follow  you."  She  flung  a  sudden, 
startling  contradictory  smile  at  him. 

Dazed  by  it,  Mr.  Mansur's  head  swam.  The  next 
instant  he  could  have  sworn  aloud. 

Lord  Yerington  had  turned  a  corner  by  a  stone  urn 
and  was  approaching  them  with  his  confident  indolence. 
Then  Mansur  knew  that  the  smile  directed  toward  him 
was  but  one  of  a  woman's  ready  subterfuges  to  disguise 
her  real  thought.  Instinctively  he  was  aware  that  she 
had  already  seen  Lord  Yerington's  approach  when  she 
had  given  that  glance  at  him.  But,  perceiving  this,  he 
took  instant  advantage  of  the  situation.  He,  too,  played 
for  Lord  Yerington. 


THRUST    AND    PARRY  203 

One  arm  upon  the  support  of  the  pergola,  he  leaned 
nearer  to  her,  his  manner  full  of  tender  gallantry. 

"  But  upon  that  theme  I  could  speak  for  ever,  my  only 
excuse  being  my  earnestness,"  he  said,  as  if  continuing  a 
conversation. 

Lord  Yerington  overheard. 

"  I  hope  I'm  not  intruding,"  he  said,  nevertheless  ad- 
vancing without  a  pause. 

Yet,  when  he  had  gained  Philida's  side,  he  bowed  and 
looked  from  Mansur's  lowering  face  to  hers,  as  if  he 
questioned  his  right  to  linger. 

Philida  did  not  reply  in  words.  She  turned  and 
walked  slowly  forward,  the  gentlemen  sauntering  beside 
her.  The  two  men  exchanged  glances  over  her  head. 
About  Mr.  Mansur's  mouth  the  dangerous  dimples  came 
and  went.  Lord  Yerington's  face  was  debonair. 

"  I  had  understood,"  said  Mr.  Mansur,  his  voice 
studiously  level  and  unemphatic,  "  that  your  lordship 
had  an  engagement  with  Lord  Burroughs,  which  honour 
did  not  suffer  you  to  break." 

"  Honour? "  repeated  Yerington,  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  aright.  "  Gad,  Mr.  Mansur  is  so  nice  in  such 
matters  himself  that  if  he  speaks  of  honour,  he  speaks 
with  authority;  but  my  engagement  with  Lord  Bur- 
roughs is  not  pressing.  It  was  not  rounded  by  a 
date." 

Mr.  Mansur's  eyes  flickered,  but  his  voice  was  even. 

"  There  are  some  engagements  to  which  circumstances 
set  a  date." 

Yerington  laughed. 

"  It  was  not  so  nominated  in  the  bond,  and  delicate 
as  is  Mr.  Mansur  in  these  questions  of  honour,  none  of 
my  house  have  needed  tutoring  on  this  point." 

Something  unusual  in  their  tone  impressed  Philida.  It 
had  been  taking  all  her  self-control  to  maintain  her  at- 


204  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

titude  of  indifference,  but  a  note  in  Lord  Yerington's 
voice  roused  a  vague  alarm  in  her. 

"  I  thought,  I "  she  stammered.  "  Are  not  you 

gentlemen  friends,  schoolfellows,  if  I  mistake  not  ? " 

Lord  Yerington  switched  off  the  head  of  a  blossom 
with  his  cane  as  he  passed. 

"  True,  true,  Lady  Philida,"  he  answered.  "  Friend- 
ship is  a  rare  and  sacred  thing,  is  it  not?  It  binds  men 
close  in  loyalty.  Ask  Mr.  Mansur." 

Silence  followed.     Mr.   Mansur's  face  was  black. 

"  Ours  dates  back  a  score  of  years  to  dear  old  school- 
days," continued  Lord  Yerington.  "  Rare  days  those, 
eh,  Mansur?  I  must  tell  you,  Lady  Philida,  that  this 
modest  friend  of  mine,  though  I'll  be  bound  he's  not 
over  fond  of  talking  of  it,  has  a  pretty  taste  in  literature. 
'Tis  letters  he  prefers,  if  I  remember." 

"  Madame  de  Sevigne's  letters  ?  "  asked  Philida,  con- 
scious there  was  an  enigmatic  intensity  in  the  situation, 
and  instinctively  seeking  to  lighten  it.  Characteristically 
she  was  forgetting  her  own  emotion  in  her  desire  to 
bring  about  a  better  understanding. 

"What  say  you  to  that,  Mansur?"  gibed  Yerington 
over  her  head.  "  No,  Mr.  Mansur's  not  particular  about 
style.  'Tis  matter  he  prefers." 

Mansur  spoke: 

"  You  may  not  have  noted,  Lady  Philida,  that  Lord 
Yerington  possesses  a  pretty  wit  in  the  art  of  juggling 
with  phrases.  Upon  my  life,  let  him  but  turn  an  agree- 
ment over  upon  his  tongue  a  time  or  two,  though  it 
might  read  as  straight  as  the  plain  entry  in  a  betting- 
book,  when  he  has  done  with  it,  it  possesses  a  new  com- 
plexion and  its  outlines  and  distances  grow  as  deceptive 
as  objects  seen  in  a  fog." 

Mr.  Mansur's  thrust  had  gone  home  and  Lord  Yering- 
ton was  impotent  to  parry  it.  Its  burn  lingered,  stinging 


THRUST    AND    PARRY  205 

in  the  open  wound  of  his  honour  as  he  read  it  by  his 
code.  Was  he,  indeed,  juggling  with  the  terms  of  the 
wager?  The  doubt  cut  him  to  the  quick.  But  it  did 
more.  It  whipped  into  fury  his  wrath  against  the  man 
who  had  trapped  him.  Having  stooped  to  contemplate 
revenge,  the  desire  for  it  grew  more  potent.  He  looked 
down  at  the  girl  beside  him.  He  felt  that  he  had  been 
befooled,  deceived  by  her  poses,  as  he  had  been  by  Lady 
Caroline's.  She  danced  in  the  torrent  of  his  anger  as  a 
leaf  eddies  upon  a  current.  Mansur  was  growing 
threateningly  bold.  He  resolved  to  silence  him,  that  he 
might  be  left  a  free  hand  to  play  out  the  game  upon 
which  he  was  bent.  His  heart  at  that  moment  was  as 
ruthless  and  as  worthless  as  the  man  with  whom  he  par- 
ried. The  whole,  reckless  gambler's  heart  of  him  he  was 
staking  in  this  venture,  thrusting  all  consideration  aside, 
except  the  one  upon  which  he  was  concentrated.  He 
was  not  reckoning  upon  any  love  Lady  Philida  might 
bear  him.  In  the  mood  in  which  he  then  was,  he  would 
not  have  believed  in  such  a  love  had  she  protested  it. 
Had  faith  in  such  a  love  been  possible  to  him  at 
that  moment,  his  revenge  would  have  been  as  impos- 
sible. 

"  A  whimsical  incident  recurs  to  my  mind  at  this 
moment,"  he  began,  so  entirely  without  relevance  that 
Mansur  perceived  in  his  remark  a  flank  movement  and 
listened  all  upon  the  defensive.  '  'Slife,  it  was  a  most 
droll  circumstance  that  two  such  ragged  knaves  should 
have  been  the  outposts  of  Master  Cupid!"  He  wiped 
his  lips  daintily  with  his  lace  handkerchief. 

Philida  regarded  him  with  troubled  eyes. 

"  It  happened  on  the  road  as  we  came  here,  and  I 
protest,  it  was  a  vastly  pleasant  diversion  from  the  cav- 
ernous old  coach.  I  was  half  asleep  when  two  shots 
sounded  that  put  me  on  the  sudden  wide  awake.  My 


206  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

men  pulled  up,  and  out  of  the  coach  Elliot  and  I  tumbled. 
A  highwayman  was  the  smallest  bird  we  thought  to  bag 
in  that  solitude.  A  highwayman!  I  can  scarce  speak 
for  laughing!  What  think  you  we  found?  "  He  looked 
full  at  Mansur.  "Two  trembling,  ragged  rascals.  I'll 
swear  you'd  not  find  their  like  out  of  St.  Giles." 

The  game  lay  in  Lord  Yerington's  hands. 

Mr.  Mansur  was  checkmated.  If  Yerington  possessed 
this  knowledge,  he  was  powerless.  The  mere  thought 
of  the  duchess'  tongue  made  him  quail.  Here  was  the 
deadliest  of  weapons — the  means  to  make  him  look  ridicu- 
lous. In  that  scoffing  world  toward  which  he  had  la- 
boured, a  blighted  reputation  a  man  might  retrieve,  but 
let  him  become  a  jest  and  he  was  ruined. 

Yerington's  eyes  sparkled  with  sardonic  amusement  as 
he  noticed  Mr.  Mansur's  discomfiture. 

"  I  think  I  heard  the  duchess  say  she  desired  a  word 
with  you,"  he  drawled. 

"But,  prithee,  what's  the  end  of  the  adventure?" 
questioned  Philida. 

"  I  crave  your  ladyship's  indulgence,"  responded  Yer- 
ington. "  My  runaway  tongue  hath  betrayed  me.  A 
finish  of  the  tale  would  involve  one  or  two  personages 
I'd  spare,  if  you  will  give  me  leave.  Upon  my  honour, 
Mansur,  I  wonder  I  had  so  long  forgot  the  duchess* 
message." 

Mr.  Mansur  glared  back  helplessly  at  him,  but  he 
added,  in  a  low  voice: 

"  You  and  I  must  meet  in  the  open  one  day." 

"  What  does  he  mean  ? "  questioned  Philida,  as  he 
turned  and  left  them. 

She  felt  all  the  threat  and  it  filled  her  with  alarm. 

Lord  Yerington  did  not  reply.  He  was  keeping  an 
eye  on  Mr.  Mansur,  who  walked  under  the  pergola, 
past  the  sun-dial  and  vanished  behind  a  hedge  of  box 


THRUST    AND    PARRY  207 

trimmed  in  quaint  fashion.  A  moment  later  he  caught 
the  glint  of  his  red  coat  through  the  green,  and  knew 
that,  true  to  his  tribe,  he  was  lingering  within  hearing. 
This  fell  in  with  his  plans,  for  he  wished  him  to  wit- 
ness the  remainder  of  the  play. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

IN   THE  ITALIAN    GARDEN 

Doch  wenn  du  sprichst:  ich  Hebe  dich! 
So  muss  ich  \veinen  bitterlich. 

— HEINE. 

YERINGTON  turned  to  his  companion,  to  discover  her  re- 
garding him  with  penetrating  eyes. 

"  I  thought  you  and  Mr.  Mansur  were  friends,"  she 
said. 

"Are  we  not?"  he  answered  flippantly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  think  I  am  so  young  that  I  cannot  catch  the 
note  of  thrust  and  parry.  Methought  to-day  you  and 
Mr.  Mansur  had  little  love  for  one  another,  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  it  was  to  my  taste  to  have  you  send  your  shafts 
over  my  head." 

She  hit  nearer  than  she  knew,  but  that  thought  but 
pricked  to  keener  relish  Yerington's  cynical  humour.  He 
perceived  that  her  face  was  a  little  pale,  and  that  the 
band  of  black  velvet  about  her  neck  accentuated  its  fair- 
ness. She  was  a  winsome  picture  and  it  may  be  that  a 
stir  in  his  blood,  as  he  gazed  at  her,  but  added  to  his 
relentlessness.  His  eyes  looked  beyond  her  to  the  gleam 
of  scarlet  behind  the  box  hedge. 

"  Young  you  are,"  he  answered  softly,  "  and  your  mir- 
ror has  long  since  told  you  that  you  are  beautiful.  These 
two  facts  spell  a  charm  to  make  men  slaves  to  such  as 
you  and  brutes  to  one  another." 

Something  in  his  tone  rang  false  in  her  ears  and 
wounded  her  bruised  girl's  heart,  the  pain  in  which  she 
was  battling  to  conceal. 

908 


£09 

"  I  pray  you,"  she  said,  taking  a  step  away  from  him, 
to  where  a  sheaf  of  glowing  hollyhocks  shot  above  her 
head,  a  rose-dappled  background  for  her  loveliness,  "  make 
me  no  town-turned  compliments.  I  mislike  them." 

He  bent  towards  her.  Something  in  his  expression 
moved  her  to  instinctive  distrust  of  him,  but  beneath  this 
sensation  lurked  a  consciousness  of  his  fascination  and 
his  power  over  her. 

"  Alas,"  he  cried,  "  that  these  poor,  worn  phrases  still 
must  serve  me,  though  I  could  pray  the  gods  for  lan- 
guage new,  and  fresh  and  worthy  of  my  theme.  Yet, 
I've  nothing  but  the  usual  vehicle,  though  it  has  long 
served  also  passion  and  the  poets,  to  help  me  to  convey 
to  you  what  hammers  at  my  heart." 

"  La,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  little  lift  of  her  shoulder, 
seeking  to  suppress  the  emotion  his  words,  his  manner 
and  the  insinuation  of  his  lowered  tone  aroused  in  her, 
"  spoke  by  the  book,  I  protest.  I  have  read  it  myself." 

"  Then  am  I  undone,"  he  exclaimed,  "  for  it  is  writ 
large  in  a  book  called  love.  And  if  you  have  read  it 
before  my  coming,  what  is  left  to  me  but  despair?  " 

She  was  as  helpless  as  a  child  to  fence  with  this  fin- 
ished master  of  gallantry. 

"  'Twould  be  indiscreet,  my  lord,  to  wonder  how 
many  ladies  had  listened  to  your  despair  before.  Be- 
lieve me,  I  speak  truth  when  I  tell  you  I  have  no  love 
for  pretty  compliments.  It  may  be  that  in  time  I  shall 
learn  to  think  well  of  them,  but  now,  in  my  country  ig- 
norance, they  ring  false  and  empty.  Prithee,  reserve 
your  phrases  for  one  more  trained  in  the  play  of  words 
than  I." 

The  scarlet  spot  behind  the  hedge  moved  suddenly. 
In  that  movement  Lord  Yerington  read  relief,  if  not 
triumph.  Lady  Philida's  attitude  he  interpreted  but  as 
a  retreat  that  invited  his  advance.  He  resolved  upon 


210  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

methods  that  would  give  less  room  for  even  temporary 
triumph  to  the  eavesdropper.  He  drew  a  step  nearer 
to  the  girl.  Involuntarily  she  shrank  against  the  holly- 
hocks, with  a  movement  of  something  like  panic.  This 
action  would  have  touched  him,  had  his  eyes  been  less 
blinded. 

"  You  say  well,  Lady  Philida/'  he  answered  seriously. 
"  Such  phrases  I  have  spoke  before,  and  spoke  them 
lightly.  But  one  phrase  has  never  hitherto  passed  my 
lips."  He  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed  low.  "  Can  you 
find  it  in  your  heart  to  become  the  Countess  of  Yering- 
ton?  I  offer  you  my  hand,  my  name  and  my  estates. 
Will  you  deign  to  accept  them  ?  " 

Philida  did  not  move,  except  that  one  hand  mechanic- 
ally groped  behind  her  to  the  swaying  stalks,  as  if  she 
felt  the  need  of  support.  The  sun  flooded  her.  Her 
eyes  searched  his  face,  as  if  she  sought  to  read  his  heart; 
the  rapid  beats  of  her  own  revealed  in  a  pulse  in  her 
bared  neck. 

Hat  in  hand,  Lord  Yerington  stood  before  her,  wait- 
ing. Strangely  enough,  now  that  he  had  sprung  this 
mine  which  he  designed  for  the  man  who  played  eaves- 
dropper within  hearing  distance,  the  memory  of  him 
passed  completely  from  his  thought.  He  found  himself 
hanging  upon  Lady  Philida's  answer,  as  if  all  the  love 
her  innocent  deception  had  slain  at  a  blow,  stood  wait- 
ing upon  her  reply.  If,  indeed,  she  were  a  scheming 
apostle  of  her  aunt's  training,  she  did  not  rise  promptly 
to  the  fly  of  title  and  wealth  which  he  danced  before 
her.  For  a  few  seconds  she  stood  in  complete  silence. 
When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  full  of  an  emotion  he 
did  not  understand. 

"  My  lord,"  she  said,  the  words  coming  slowly  and 
with  intense  earnestness ;  "  do  you  ask  this  question  of 
Mistress  Marjorie  or  of  Lady  Philida  Wentworth?  " 


IN   THE    ITALIAN    GARDEN 

He  started.  He  had  been  intent  upon  his  purpose,  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  other  ideas. 

"  Mistress  Marjorie?  "  he  echoed,  feeling  confusedly 
for  her  thought. 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  gave  a  little  cry  before  she 
spoke,  her  eyes  still  fixed  intently  upon  his  face.  When 
her  words  came,  they  were  at  times  almost  incoherent, 
but  as  he  listened  their  significance  grew  clear  to  him, 
appallingly  clear.  He  saw  her  meaning  as  by  a  flash  of 
lightning. 

"  If  'tis  the  Lady  Philida  you  ask  to  be  your  wife, 
then  my  answer  is  No!  Never  would  I  marry  you. 
Think  you  I'd  stoop  to  wed  a  man  who,  had  my  place  in 
life  been  different,  would  have  kissed  me,  and  passed  me 
by  in  wantonness,  who  would  have  made  me  a  mere  jest, 
a  means  to  trifle  a  few  hours  away  with,  and  then  have 
left  me  without  a  second  thought?  Tell  me,  is  it  the 
Lady  Philida  you  ask  to  marry  you?" 

Involuntarily,  Lord  Yerington's  hand  went  to  his 
throat.  This  revelation  choked  him.  For  an  instant 
the  scene  about  him  swam. 

"  Ah!  "  she  cried,  "  I  see,  I  see.  'Twas  only  Philida. 
Then  hear  my  answer,  my  lord.  Again  and  again  'tis 
No !  A  poor  creature  would  you  make  of  me.  A  count- 
ess, forsooth!  I'd  rather  be  mere  Marjorie,  wedded  to 
an  honest,  loving  woodcutter." 

She  would  have  gone  past  him,  but  in  an  agony  of 
self-abasement  he  fell  upon  his  knees  and  buried  his  face 
in  the  skirt  of  her  dress.  This  stayed  her. 

He  could  not  speak.  He  could  but  let  the  tide  of 
darkness  and  self-accusation  engulf  him. 

At  length  he  felt  her  hand  upon  his  hair,  and  Philida's 
voice  reached  him,  crossed  by  a  peal  of  tenderness. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  with  a  check  of  laughter  near  to 
tears,  "  'twas  Marjorie,  'twas  Marjorie  after  all." 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

He  found  her  hand  and  bowed  his  head  upon  it,  mute, 
condemned  of  himself. 

"  I  am  so  grateful,"  he  heard  her  whisper,  "  and  I 
doubted  him." 

The  girl  was  lost  in  joy,  and  the  man  in  a  daze  of 
misery. 

A  sharp,  imperious  voice  struck  across  their  abstrac- 
tion. 

"  Hey,  hey,  my  Lord  Yerington,  and  is  this  your 
sense  of  honour!  No  London  poses,  if  you  please,  for 
my  country  simpleton.  I  wonder  at  you,  I  do,  upon  my 
soul," 

The  duchess  stood  before  him,  her  staff  of  authority 
in  her  hand. 

Yerington  rose  to  his  feet.  He  opened  his  lips  to 
speak,  but  for  the  moment  no  words  came.  The  sharp, 
contradictory  emotions  of  the  last  few  hours  had  been 
too  great  and,  finished  man  of  the  world  as  he  was,  he 
was  not  master  of  himself. 

"  Well,  sir,  well !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess  impatiently. 
"  Must  you  stand  there  gaping  like  a  yokel  ?  Explain 
this  position  in  which  I  find  you.  And  you,  miss,  what 
have  you  to  say?  " 

Philida  went  to  her,  her  face  dancing  over  with  smiles 
and  blushes. 

"  La,  ma'am,"  she  said,  "  do  you  think  so  ill  of  your 
niece  as  to  suppose  that  a  gentleman  may  pose  to  her  and 
flout  her?" 

Reassurance  began  to  glimmer  in  the  duchess'  mind, 
but  nothing  but  plain  statements  and  facts  would  do  for 
this  practical  dame. 

"  Come,  Yerington,"  she  said  sternly,  "  have  you  been 
making  love  to  my  niece?  Answer  up." 

No  way  of  explanation  lay  open  to  Yerington.  The 
duchess  had  discovered  him  in  his  attitude  of  adoration, 


IN   THE    ITALIAN    GARDEN 

and  to  deny  anything  but  left  Philida  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  the  situation  alone.  He  cast  a  glance  to  where  she 
stood.  She  was  looking  at  him  with  pride,  love  and 
trust,  if,  albeit,  a  certain  pervading  shyness. 

"  May  I  crave  a  few  words  with  your  grace  in  pri- 
vate?" he  said  at  length. 

"  You  may,"  answered  the  duchess,  still  choosing  to 
appear  unmollified.  "  As  for  you,  miss,  go  to  your  room 
and  stay  there  till  I  summon  you." 

Philida  left  her  meekly,  but  in  one  of  the  alleys  of  the 
garden  as  she  went  she  encountered  Mistress  Sybil,  who 
had  heard  and  seen  all,  and  who  was  all  curiosity.  Phi- 
lida's  heart  was  running  over  with  joy,  and  here  was  a 
girl  like  herself  athrob  with  the  romance  of  life,  and  her 
confidence  went  out  to  her,  as  wave  dances  to  wave. 

"  Oh,  Philida,  Philida!  "  Sybil  cried,  winding  her  arms 
about  her,  "  have  you  captured  the  Earl  of  Yerington, 
you  little  country  mouse?" 

"  I've  not  said  so,"  answered  Philida,  in  confusion. 

"  I  saw  it  all,"  whispered  Sybil,  "  as  I  came  in  with 
the  duchess,  and  if  it  does  not  mean  a  declaration  then 
I  protest  you're  a  bold  creature." 

"  You  know  better,"  expostulated  Philida. 

"  How  can  I  know  better,"  said  the  sly  Sybil,  "  when 
I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes  ?  " 

Philida's  inexperience  -walked  into  the  trap. 

"  You  know,"  she  protested  with  crimson  cheeks,  "  that 
his  lordship  would  not  presume  to — to " 

"  But  he  would,  if  you  encouraged  him,"  said  Sybil, 
with  a  sage  shake  of  her  head.  "  La,  all  the  world 
knows  what  a  sad  rake  Yerington  is.  I  warn  you,  child, 
you'll  never  get  a  declaration,  if  you  hold  yourself  so 
lightly." 

"  But  I  will  not  have  you  think  so  ill  of  Lord  Yering- 
ton !  "  exclaimed  Philida.  "  And  you  should  think  too 


A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

well  of  me  to  suppose  he  would  take  an  unwarranted 
liberty." 

"  Then  you  have  had  a  declaration,"  exclaimed  Sybil. 
"  Deny  it,  if  you  can !  Deny  it,  or  confess  yourself  a 
bold,  brazen  hussy!  Do  you  deny  it?" 

Completely  at  a  disadvantage,  Philida  stood  biting  her 
lips. 

Sybil  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"  Oh,  lud ! "  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands,  "  the  baby 
has  told  me  herself!  If  you  don't  deny  it,  then  you 
confirm  it." 

She  sped  off  intent  on  spreading  her  rare  morsel  of 
news,  unheeding  the  agonised  appeals  Philida  flung  after 
her. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

MISTRESS    SYBIL  PLAYS   FATE 

My  life  its  secrets  and  its   mystery  has — 

A  love  eternal  in  a  moment  born; 
There  is  no  hope  to  help  my  evil  case, 

And  she  knows  naught  who  makes  me  thus  forlorn. 

— FELIX  ANVERS. 

THE  duchess  led  the  way  to  the  white-panelled  morning- 
room.  Once  there,  she  faced  Lord  Yerington.  He  stood 
silent  before  her.  His  thoughts  were  still  astray,  his 
humiliation  strong  upon  him.  For  a  moment  she  watched 
him  sharply. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  before  him,  his  apathetic  attitude 
was  ill-suited  to  the  role  of  impetuous  lover.  He  was 
steeped  in  a  misery  so  profound  that  it  blotted  his  power 
to  hear,  though  not  to  feel.  The  duchess*  next  words 
came  to  him  dimly,  as  from  a  distance. 

"  Now,  sir,"  she  said,  "  you  have  stolen  a  march  upon 
me  in  a  scurvy  fashion.  Prithee,  explain  yourself." 

His  mien  raised  a  fear  in  her,  and  gave  her  voice  a 
sharper  edge. 

He  looked  back  at  her,  unheeding  her  manner.  When 
he  spoke,  he  put  one  hand  upon  the  table  before  him  to 
steady  himself. 

"  Your  grace,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  I  have  much  to  ac- 
cuse myself  of."  He  hesitated,  fought  for  a  phrase. 
"Words!"  he  burst  forth  suddenly,  flinging  wide  one 
hand  in  a  gesture  of  profound  contempt.  "Again, 
words!  " 

The  duchess'  suspicions  were  further  aroused.  Her 
215 


A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

shrewd,  worldly  eyes  searched  his  face.  She  read  in  it  a 
despair  so  deep,  it  startled  her.  Her  own  grew  dark  with 
apprehension. 

"  Yerington !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  have  you  been  acting  in 
bad  faith?  Have  you  been  trifling  with  this  child?" 

With  a  groan,  he  turned  upon  his  heel  and  sought  the 
window.  There  the  duchess  saw  him  outlined  against 
the  light  without,  his  head  bent  upon  his  breast. 

The  flickering  flame  of  her  fear  leapt  high. 

"  My  God !  "  she  cried  sharply,  bringing  down  her  staff 
with  a  blow  that  threatened  the  tortoise-shell,  "  is  it  so 
bad  as  that?  Have  you  played  with  this  child  whilst  you 
have  been  irrevocably  pledged  to  another  woman  ?  " 

He  put  aside  this  idea  by  a  gesture  so  full  of  repudia- 
tion that  her  misgivings  on  that  head  took  flight. 

"  Lud,  man,"  she  said,  with  a  long-drawn  breath, 
"  what  a  start  you  gave  me.  Why  all  this  shilly-shally- 
ing? If  'tis  your  conscience  that  is  troubling  you,  don't 
be  a  fool.  I  know  the  world  and  your  record.  Between 
us,  we  must  keep  it  from  the  child.  Lud,  I've  ever  loved 
a  man  of  spirit,  and,  truth  to  tell,  I  trust  you,  because 
you've  sown  your  wild  oats  in  the  sight  of  all  men.  No 
canting  hypocrites  for  me;  I  detest  the  tribe.  Now, 
what  have  you  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

Yerington  fought  for  self-possession.  He  had  no  desire 
to  shield  himself.  He  was  determined  to  tell  the  truth 
to  this  woman  waiting  upon  his  silence,  but  he  knew  his 
next  words  would  cut  him  off  from  more  than  life.  They 
would  exile  him  from  Philida.  He  could  not  summon 
the  short,  brutal  phrases  with  which  he  intended  to  pro- 
nounce his  own  condemnation.  In  the  struggle  within 
him,  drops  of  perspiration  burst  out  upon  his  brow. 

Mechanically,  he  brushed  them  away  with  his  handker- 
chief, the  light  flashing  upon  his  jewelled  fingers  as  he  did 
so.  So  strong  a  thing  is  long-established  habit,  that  into 


MISTRESS    SYBIL    PLAYS    FATE 

this  gesture,  wrung  from  him  in  honest  anguish,  there 
entered  some  suggestion  of  the  dandy. 

The  duchess,  noting  him  with  renewed  suspicion  and 
growing  anger  at  his  strained  silence,  read  into  the  action 
a  foppish  self-sufficiency. 

"  Sirrah!  "  she  exclaimed,  "  have  you  flouted  us?  Have 
you  played  with  her  and  flouted  me?  Has  any  one  ever 
whispered  you  that  you  might  flout  Mary  Croome  and  go 
scot  free?  Did  you  think  it  was  but  a  pair  of  women 
with  whom  you  had  to  deal?  Oh,  that  the  head  of  our 
house  should  be  a  youth  with  the  heart  of  a  chicken  and 
a  wrist  of  film !  I'm  not  a  man ;  but  a  woman,  who  has 
wit,  is  an  ill  one  to  cross,  my  Lord  Yerington." 

He  turned  his  face  toward  her  and  she  ceased  the  torrid 
tumble  of  her  words  with  almost  comical  abruptness. 

"  I'll  be  sworn,  Yerington,  this  is  beyond  my  guessing," 
she  said  with  a  sort  of  puzzled  meekness.  "  I  give  it  up. 
What  is  it  ?  But  one  word — you  love  her  ?  " 

At  this  question  Yerington  concealed  his  eyes  for  an 
instant  with  the  jewelled  hand  that  had  offended. 

"  Love  her !  "  he  echoed.  "  'Tis  one  of  life's  vast  ironies 
that  I  should  love  her  so  utterly." 

As  he  stood  motionless,  he  felt  the  duchess'  practical 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  set  there  with  a  touch  of  reassur- 
ing comradeship. 

"  You  love  her,"  she  said,  "  and  there's  no  other 
woman.  That  is  enough  for  me.  The  rest,  I'll  venture, 
is  but  liver  and  remorse.  I  keep  no  man's  conscience. 
I'm  a  worldly,  hard,  old  woman,  and  you're  a  graceless 
rake,  but  between  us,  let  us  spare  her.  Keep  your  con- 
fessions for  me,  if  confess  you  must,  though  'tis  a  bad 
habit  and  I  counsel  you  against  it.  Scratch  your  name 
from  the  buttery-book  at  White's  and  begin  anew.  Mat- 
rimony is  a  sort  of  rebirth,  you  know,  and  gives  a  man 
another  lease  on  life." 


21S  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Her  touch  upon  his  shoulder  but  redoubled  in  Yering- 
ton  the  sense  of  isolation  which  had  persisted  at  intervals 
ever  since  Mansur's  revelation  of  the  morning.  He  put 
out  his  hand  and  took  hers  in  a  clasp  of  real  feeling,  with- 
out bending  his  head  to  the  usual  courtly  salutation.  As 
a  comrade  she  had  extended  it  to  him,  and  as  a  comrade 
he  accepted  it. 

At  this  instant  there  was  an  uncertain  knock  at  the 
door,  a  mere  rattling  of  the  knuckles  down  the  panels, 
ominously  playful. 

The  duchess  started  and  frowned.  Without  waiting 
for  an  invitation,  the  door  was  opened  from  without.  A 
fair,  curly  head,  dressed  high  and  crowned  by  a  lace  frill, 
peered  in. 

"Did  you  invite  us  to  enter?"  Sybil  asked,  with  af- 
fected submissiveness. 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  snapped  the  duchess. 

By  this  time  the  girl  had  danced  into  the  room  and 
thrown  wide  the  door;  behind  it  appeared  a  row  of  gen- 
tlemen, visibly  discomposed  and  doubtful  of  their  wel- 
come. Male-fashion,  they  had  been  cajoled  there  by 
Sybil's  wiles.  She  had  led  them,  half  commanding  and 
half  coaxing.  Now  that  they  faced  the  duchess,  the  im- 
propriety of  their  position  seized  them  sharply.  No  such 
sensation  dismayed  the  mischievous  damsel  who  had  con- 
ducted them.  She  had  commenced  her  expedition  with  a 
complete  consciousness  of  her  imprudence,  and  she  de- 
lighted to  be  the  conveyer  of  glad  tidings  and  the  defier 
of  conventions. 

"  If  you  please,  your  grace,"  she  said,  "  we  have  come 
to  offer  our  congratulations,"  sweeping  a  deep  curtsey. 

"  Upon  what  ?  "  glared  the  duchess.  "  Not  upon  your 
own  discretion,  I'll  go  bail." 

"  La,  you  are  not  going  to  be  angry,"  cried  Sybil 
hypocritically,  "  or  I  protest,  I'll  die  of  chagrin.  I  con- 


MISTRESS    SYBIL    PLAYS    FATE     219 

fess  I  but  coaxed  the  good  news  out  of  Philida,  but  me- 
thought  'twas  for  all  the  world  to  know." 

The  duchess'  masterful  staff  rang  sharply  on  the  pol- 
ished floor. 

Yerington's  face  was  colourless.  It  seemed  as  if  fate 
had  designed  to  trap  him  in  the  consequences  of  his  tem- 
porary madness,  and,  what  was  worse,  not  him  alone,  but 
others,  whom  with  all  his  heart  he  desired  to  spare.  He 
awaited  the  duchess'  next  words  with  dread.  If  she  ac- 
quiesced, he  was  committed  to  a  position  of  acute  em- 
barrassment. He  could  not  in  honour  deny  what  she 
might  choose  to  acknowledge. 

"  What  you  know,  is  for  all  the  world  to  know,  you 
impudent  baggage,"  cried  the  duchess  angrily.  "  Horace 
Walpole,"  addressing  that  gentleman,  who  was  palpably 
seeking  to  hide  himself  behind  Sir  Geoffrey,  "  you  are 
old  enough  to  know  better." 

With  obvious  reluctance,  Mr.  Walpole  advanced  to 
the  foreground. 

"  I  can  but  plead  that  Eve  was  wondrous  beautiful, 
and  that  I  am  but  a  poor^  weak  man,"  he  said. 

"  Lud !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  "  must  Adam's  excuse 
serve  forever?  You  look,  every  one  of  you,  like  a  set  of 
simpletons,  and  let  me  tell  you,  if  it  did  not  jump  with 
my  inclination,  I  should  lie  this  Eve,  who  so  successfully 
has  led  you,  out  of  countenance.  It  but  happens  she  has 
forced  my  hand  an  hour  or  two,  and  so  I  do  not  choose 
to  contradict  her." 

With  an  exclamation,  Sybil  rushed  to  take  her  in  an 
impetuous  embrace,  but  the  duchess  put  her  coldly  away 
from  her. 

"  If  you  do  not  learn  discretion,  the  Lord  knows  what 
your  end  will  be,"  she  said  with  grave  displeasure. 

Yerington  bit  his  lip.  His  gaze  went  past  the  gentle- 
men who  were  crowding  into  the  room  with  bows  and 


220  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

congratulations  and  sought  out  Captain  Elliot's  face. 
The  captain  knew  his  friend's  every  mood. 

As  their  eyes  met,  Yerington's  fell. 

The  dinner  that  followed  was  of  little  comfort  to  any 
one  who  shared  it.  A  desultory  effort  at  light  conversa- 
tion continued  throughout  the  meal. 

Lord  Yerington  perceived  that  Mansur's  face  was  dark 
with  misery.  Yerington  made  an  effort  to  appear  natural, 
but  he  could  not  bend  himself  to  the  treachery  of  an  af- 
fectation of  gaiety.  Philida's  countenance,  every  time 
he  looked  upon  it,  branded  him  with  self-reproach.  It 
was  filled  with  a  shy  happiness,  which  added  to  its 
beauty. 

The  duchess  felt  she  had  been  too  little  consulted  in 
the  entire  conduct  of  the  affair.  For  the  time  being  she 
was  conscious  of  more  ill-humour  at  this  thought,  than 
triumph  at  the  consummation  of  her  cherished  plan.  She 
flung  darts  to  right  and  left  at  squirming  victims.  Sybil 
alone  was  gay.  She  was  rejoicing  in  the  sensation  she 
had  caused,  and  deflected  the  duchess'  thrusts  with  the 
ease  of  long  practice. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  repast,  a  chance  comment  of 
Horace  Walpole's  caught  his  hostess'  ear. 

"  Oh,  those  beaten  paths,"  he  was  saying,  "  dusty  with 
the  feet  of  the  conventional." 

"  And  nobody  haunts  them  with  more  persistence  than 
you  do,  Horry,"  she  retorted  tartly.  "  Even  your  vices 
must  pass  muster  as  being  de  rigueur" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  a  habit  he  had  caught  in 
France,  and  deserted  his  position  without  a  blush. 

"What  would  become  of  society  if  one  was  to  be 
crucified  upon  one's  epigrams?  At  least,  duchess,  you'll 
admit  that  the  beaten  paths  are  well  supplied  with  mile- 
stones and  guide-posts." 

"So  they  are,"  said  the  duchess  thoughtfully;  "after 


MISTRESS    SYBIL    PLAYS    FATE     221 

all,  convention,  whether  it  be  real  or  simulated,  expresses 
one  of  society's  efforts  at  self-protection." 

She  cast  a  thoughtful  glance  at  Philida.  No  more 
stolen  visits  to  her  foster-mother,  no  more  running  about 
the  countryside  by  herself,  she  thought. 

But  before  she  could  institute  this  new  regime,  Philida 
had  outwitted  her  with  serious  consequences. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

UNAVOWED   CONSPIRATORS 

Jealousy  lives  upon  doubt;  and  comes  to  an  end,  or  becomes 
a  fury  as  soon  as  it  passes  from  doubt  to  jealousy. 

—LA  ROCHEFOUCAULD. 

SHORTLY  after  dinner,  Yerington  withdrew  with  excuses. 
He  told  the  duchess  that  the  day's  happenings  gave  him 
much  to  think  over  and  arrange,  and  she  dismissed  him 
with  an  arch  shake  of  the  ringer,  and  a  warning  to  treat 
all  bogies  of  the  past  as  they  deserved  to  be  treated,  as 
having  no  present  existence.  He  was  supremely  thankful 
that  Captain  Elliot  chose  to  linger  with  Mistress  Sybil, 
enduring  her  daring  sallies  of  wit  with  admirable  phi- 
losophy. At  that  time  he,  of  all  things,  desired  solitude 
and  an  interval  of  reflection. 

Mr.  Mansur  was  restless  under  his  humiliation  and 
disappointment.  He  started  upon  a  ramble,  shortly  after 
Lord  Yerington  had  taken  his  leave.  He  turned  his  steps 
towards  the  village  of  Oxholme,  and  chose  a  short  cut 
across  the  fields.  He  had  not  gone  more  than  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  upon  his  way,  when,  to  his  infinite  surprise,  a 
figure  in  flowered  muslin  poised  for  an  instant  upon  a 
stile  before  descent  into  the  meadow  beyond.  That  elfin 
form  filled  him  with  a  tragedy  of  vain  longing.  As  he 
looked  at  her  the  years  stretched  ahead  of  him,  grey  and 
desolate ;  his  ambitions  turned  to  dust  and  ashes ;  his  goals 
withered. 

An  instant  later  he  smiled  bitterly. 

He  realised  that  Lady  Philida,  intoxicated  with  her 
joy,  was  flying  to  carry  news  of  it  to  her  beloved  foster-- 


UNAVOWED    CONSPIRATORS 

mother.  Had  she  but  known  it,  it  had  already  travelled 
far  and  wide  by  the  swift  medium  of  the  back-stairs  and 
was  even  now  no  secret  in  Oxholme. 

Mansur  walked  on,  keeping  the  light-footed  figure  in 
sight,  until  it  vanished  within  the  door  of  the  Royal 
Arms.  He  knew  she  would  go  at  once  to  Mrs.  Cul- 
pepper's  private  rooms,  which  faced  away  from  the  road, 
and  so  would  have  no  knowledge  of  his  presence  in  the 
inn,  if  he  went  there. 

He  had  been  torturing  himself  by  the  sight  of  her. 
He  told  himself  that  just  so  she  had  danced  through  his 
life,  alluring  him,  yet  ever  beyond  him.  His  hatred  for 
Yerington  was  intensified,  for  the  earl  had  triumphed 
over  him  on  this  the  day  he  had  planned  for  his  humilia- 
tion. He  felt  as  if  he  could  have  stretched  out  his  hand 
and  destroyed  Lady  Philida,  as  though  she  were  indeed 
the  fairy  creature  she  looked,  rather  than  have  to  endure 
again  the  sight  of  the  love  in  her  eyes  he  had  read  there 
that  day,  as  she  looked  toward  Yerington. 

When  he  reached  the  inn,  he  stood  before  it,  lost  in 
thought.  From  the  midst  of  his  abstraction,  he  glanced 
up  to  observe  two  hostlers  washing  the  yellow  wheels  of 
a  chaise.  His  eyes,  ever  observant,  caught  sight  of  a  coat 
of  arms  upon  the  panel.  His  expression  changed.  Almost 
instinctively  he  looked  up  to  a  casement  of  the  window 
above  his  head.  It  was  as  if  he  already  knew  he  would 
gaze  into  a  pair  of  yellow-brown  eyes. 

A  glove  fluttered  to  his  feet. 

"  My  challenge,  sir,"  called  a  laughing  voice.  "  Return 
it  if  you  dare." 

A  moment  later,  without  awaiting  the  ceremony  of  an- 
nouncement, found  him  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  room 
from  which  Lady  Caroline  had  smiled  at  him. 

"  Come  in,"  called  her  voice. 

He  entered,  and  faced  her.     She  was  clad  in  a  dark 


A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

green  travelling-dress,  her  hair  clubbed,  and  her  hat  flung 
upon  the  oaken  table. 

"  I  accept  your  challenge,  your  ladyship,"  said  Mr. 
Mansur,  bending  to  salute  the  careless  hand  she  extended 
to  him.  "  In  days  of  old  'twould  have  spurred  knights  to 
valorous  deeds,  I'll  be  bound." 

She  smiled,  watching  him  speculatively. 

"The  knights  of  to-day  put  much  upon  the  shoulders 
of  the  centuries,"  she  said. 

"Has  your  ladyship  commands?"  he  asked.  "Your 
most  humble  and  obedient  servant  is  at  your  service." 

He  watched  her,  as  she  turned  away,  and  placed  one 
small  booted  foot  upon  the  rim  of  the  empty  hearth.  He 
was  assured  she  had  just  experienced  a  great  shock.  None 
of  this  appeared  in  her  attitude. 

"  You  are  visiting  in  the  neighbourhood,  Mr.  Man- 
sur?" she  said,  delicately  smothering  a  yawn.  "My 
Lord  Yerington  has  the  pleasure  ?  " 

Mr.  Mansur  suppressed  a  smile. 

"  'Tis  my  privilege  to  be  visiting  her  Grace  of  Croome," 
he  answered. 

At  that  moment  the  title  had  no  power  to  lighten  his 
mood. 

She  gave  a  quick  glance,  and  disguised  a  start  by  a 
hand,  raised  to  straighten  a  stray  lock  of  hair. 

"  I  'did  not  know  you  knew  her.  Her  grace  has  been 
little  in  town  of  late." 

Mr.  Mansur  perceived  that  this  was  a  sneer  at  his  re- 
cent acceptance  in  her  world,  and  registered  it  against 
her. 

"And  your  ladyship  is  also  visiting  in  the  neighbour- 
hood?" 

"  La,  no,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  on  my  way  to  Wards- 
leigh  Abbey." 

"  I  should  have  thought/'  said  Mansur,  studying  the 


UNAVOWED    CONSPIRATORS 

clouded  amber  of  his  cane,  "  that  the  way  to  Wardsleigh 
Abbey  scarce  lay  through  Oxholme." 

"  The  roads  are  better  by  this  route,  though  the  inns 
are  not  fit  for  Christians,"  she  answered. 

She  stooped  to  pick  up  her  handkerchief  that  had 
fallen.  As  she  straightened  herself,  her  eyes  met  his. 
There  was  a  cool  challenge  in  them,  as  if  she  defied  him 
to  suspect  her  of  any  deeper  interest  than  she  was  openly 
displaying. 

"Great  news!  great  news!"  she  said,  in  imitation  of 
the  criers.  "  I've  learned  within  the  hour  that  Yerington 
is  a  captive  at  last." 

He  did  not  reply.  The  lash  was  quivering  about  his 
shoulders  also.  They  were  both  practised  dissemblers, 
but  she  was  a  woman,  and  for  an  instant  she  had  him  at 
a  disadvantage.  When  he  'did  not  reply,  she  laughed  to 
conceal  a  catch  in  her  throat. 

"  I  am  told  she's  a  mere  child,"  she  drawled ;  "  a 
portionless  baby,  who  has  never  seen  the  town,  and  who 
will  wile  away  his  moments  with  virtuous  little  mottoes 
learned  at  school.  Lud,  I  can  scarce  contain  myself  for 
laughing." 

She  raised  her  hand  to  check  her  merriment,  but  Man- 
sur's  relentless  eyes  noticed  that  it  trembled. 

"  Of  her  youth  there  is  no  question,"  he  answered. 

She  flashed  round  at  him,  each  of  her  thirty  years 
stinging  in  her  memory. 

"  Hath  the  baby  bewitche'd  you  too  ?  "  she  asked. 

His  eyes  met  hers  unfalteringly.  She  was  turning  him 
into  an  implacable  enemy,  and  slowly  the  determination  to 
make  a  tool  of  her  was  crystallising  in  his  mind.  What 
better  tool  than  a  jealous,  ruthless  woman  could  a  man 
wish?  He  began  to  speak,  intending  to  sting  her  into  a 
mood  to  suit  his  purpose.  But  he  overestimated  his 
strength.  The  picture  he  drew  burned  into  his  own 


226  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

heart.  His  eyes  grew  dark,  and  when  he  ceased,  his  secret 
was  as  much  hers  as  hers  was  his. 

"  The  Lady  Philida  was  born  to  win  hearts.  Me- 
thinks  even  in  her  cradle,  her  baby  coos  had  magic  in 
them.  Her  voice  once  heard  is  not  one  to  be  forgotten. 
Some,  when  they  wound,  leave  the  vanquished  still  the 
power  to  pull  forth  the  darts.  Not  so  with  Lady  Philida ! 
Once  her  victim,  ever  her  victim." 

Lady  Caroline  tapped  an  impatient  foot  upon  the  floor. 

"  I  protest,  I  never  thought  you  a  poet,  Mr.  Mansur. 
Pray  continue." 

"  She  is  beautiful,"  went  on  Mr.  Mansur,  his  eyes  fixed 
before  him  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her,  "  but  she  carries 
her  beauty  simply  as  a  thing  apart.  Her  walk  is  light, 
as  if  it  wrere  her  thoughts  which  bore  her.  Years  cannot 
weaken  her  hold  upon  the  heart,  for  'tis  some  spirit  within 
her  which  reaches  out  and  takes  men  prisoners.  Time 
cannot  dull  the  radiance  of  her  face;  it  will  but  brighten." 

Despite  himself,  his  head  sank  at  his  last  words. 

Stung  beyond  control,  she  flashed  at  him: 

'  'Tis  false !  We  women  all  grow  old ;  it  is  our 
curse." 

Mr.  Mansur  bowed  deeply,  with  a  gleam  of  white 
teeth. 

"  Nay,  the  Lady  Caroline's  charms  must  be  our  despair 
forever." 

She  did  not  heed  him;  he  had  wounded  her  beyond 
disguising. 

"  A  little  country  simpleton ! "  she  exclaimed  vehe- 
mently. "  He  will  weary  of  her." 

"  Mayhap,"  he  answered  drily. 

His  tone  penetrated.  She  checked  herself  sharply. 
Again  she  turned  toward  the  hearth  and  stood  there, 
twisting  her  rings  absently  about  her  fingers. 

"  I'm  willing  to  lay  a  wager  and  give  you  odds,  that 


Yerington  will  weary  of  his  Lady  Philida,"  she  said,  as 
if  in  defiance  of  his  derisive  eyes. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  searching  in  his  crafty  mind 
for  a  plan  in  which  he  could  utilise  her  and  her  jealousy. 
Desperate  schemes  they  were,  with  desperate  chances,  but 
the  memory  of  that  look  on  Philida's  face  was  biting  in 
his  consciousness  like  salt  in  an  open  wound.  It  was  a 
stricken  man  who  watched  her,  with  the  ready  come  and 
go  of  his  brilliant  smile. 

"  And  she  loves  him  ?  "  she  asked,  absently  polishing  a 
brass  candlestick  with  her  fingers. 

"  Yerington  was  ever  fortune's  favourite,"  he  answered 
lightly. 

She  stamped  her  foot  in  a  burst  of  temper. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  fortune,  nor  in  waiting  for  it. 
When  I  want  things  to  happen,  I  make  them  happen." 

She  was  getting  to  the  point  toward  which  Mr.  Man- 
sur  had  been  urging  her.  He  bowed,  with  inferred  flat- 
tery in  his  manner. 

"  Ah,  your  ladyship  may  say  so.  You  who  possess  the 
highest  cards  in  life's  pack — beauty,  wit  and — daring." 

He  hesitated  before  pronouncing  the  last  word,  to  give 
it  peculiar  emphasis.  She  looked  round  over  her  shoulder 
and  met  his  eyes.  For  an  instant  they  read  each  other — 
then,  each  hastened  to  an  elaborate  concealment  of  their 
mutual  knowledge. 

"  You  trifle  with  words,  Mr.  Mansur.  A  long  suit 
of  hearts  prevails  against  these  cards  you  mention." 

"  If  they  be  well  played,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  but, 
if  not "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

She  laughed. 

"  I  suppose  that  little  simpleton  thinks  that  all  the 
game  of  life  goes  down  to  hearts.  A  month  in  town  will 
teach  her  better.  But  then,"  she  added  slowly,  "there's 
the  aunt." 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  I  think  I  smoke  you,"  said  Mansur,  with  an  expres- 
sion approaching  real  amusement.  "  The  Lady  Philida 
holds  the  cards,  but  methinks  'tis  like  that  hereafter  the 
duchess  will  play  her  hand." 

"  A  dowdy !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  who  makes  Jack  Straws 
of  other  women's  reputations,  but  guards  her  own  like  a 
Gorgon." 

Suddenly  she  laughed  low  to  herself. 

"  La,  how  quickly  the  spotless  Yerington  would  desert 
his  dove,  if  the  world  bespeckled  her.  Their  wives  must 
be  flawless,  these  rakes.  There's  the  humour  of  it." 

For  an  instant  Mansur's  hatred  for  her  showed  in  his 
eyes.  He  knew  the  world  and  her  class,  and  he  read  her 
thought  aright.  Her  instinct  was  to  drag  'down  this 
girl  to  her  own  level,  yet  this  too  helped  the  plan  forming 
in  his  mind,  and  he  smothered  his  wrath  to  lead  her  on. 

Lady  Caroline  realised  with  something  like  chagrin 
that  she  must  take  this  man  in  some  degree  within  her 
confidence. 

"  If  one  were  to  interrupt  this  billing  and  cooing,  how 
would  one  go  about  it  ?  " 

She  took  up  her  green  muff,  and  began  to  pat  it  softly. 

'  Ton  honour,  how  should  I  know  ?  "  he  asked,  deter- 
mine'd  to  lead  her  further  into  the  open. 

She  considered  him  from  under  her  lashes,  her  yellow- 
brown  eyes  contracted. 

"  You  think  piccadilloes  will  not  prevail  ?  "  she  asked, 
flicking  a  bit  of  dust  from  the  velvet  of  her  muff. 

He  took  his  cane  into  his  confidence. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  a  cast  in  dice  of  that  colour 
that  Lord  Yerington  has  not  seen  thrown  a  thousand 
times?  " 

She  laid  her  cheek  softly  upon  the  muff. 

"  What  would  you  do,  if  you  wished  to — bring  these 
fools  to  their  senses  ?  " 


UNAVOWED    CONSPIRATORS 

"  Gad,  your  ladyship,  I  have  no  idea.  The  situation  is 
undramatically  perfect.  A  picture,  I  assure  you." 

He  had  counted  upon  her  impetuosity.  She  check- 
mated him.  She  sank  indolently  into  a  great  chair  beside 
the  hearth.  She  too  possessed  a  valuable  asset  of  villainy 
— patience. 

"  Methinks  Master  Cupid  must  long  for  a  little  spice 
in  this  barley-corn  idyll.  Lud,  I  should  find  it  borish. 
Yerington  making  sheep's  eyes  like  a  Philomel." 

As  she  ended,  she  smothered  a  yawn  and  at  studiously 
distant  intervals  remarked  on  the  badness  of  the  inns. 
Mansur  perceived  that  she  was  resolved  to  show  her  hand 
no  further,  and  that  now  he  must  make  a  move.  He 
went  about  it  obliquely. 

"  Speaking  of  adventures,"  he  began,  conscious  of  his 
abrupt  method,  but  wishing  to  save  the  moments,  "  I  heard 
of  a  rare  one  a  fortnight  since." 

"  Do  relate  it,"  she  said  idly,  "  to  make  me  forget  the 
inns." 

"  The  scene  was  laid  in  France,"  he  began. 

"  A  country  ripe  for  an  affaire  de  cceur"  she  said,  with 
a  meaning  glance. 

"  Especially  those  romances  which  do  not  always  end 
with  marriage,"  he  said,  contemplating  his  nails. 

"  Your  information  is  varied,  Mr.  Mansur." 

"  It  is  sometimes  of  value  to  my  friends." 

She  appeared  to  be  half  asleep  and  did  not  reply.  He 
suppressed  his  impulse  of  impatience  with  a  pinch  of 
snuff. 

"  The  general  outlines  of  these  romances  are  as  old  as 
Adam,"  he  went  on. 

"  Stop  at  Noah,"  she  urged  with  her  muff  to  her 
cheek.  "  There  were  so  few  characters  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden." 

"  There  were  Adam  and  Eve  and  Lilith,"  he  said,  "  the 


230  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

eternal  triangle.  My  hero  was  a  man  of  roving  fancy, 
and  his  career  was  not  without  its  interests.  But  at  last 
he  wanted  a  wife  for  his  home  and  so  a  maid  was  chosen. 

As  for  Lilith "  He  paused  and  tapped  his  snuff-box 

thoughtfully. 

She  was  sitting  upright  now,  her  attitude  tense.  But 
she  was  superior  to  her  torture  and  remained  silent. 

He  continued,  a  slow  admiration  of  her  beginning  to 
grow  within  him. 

"  Lilith  would  not  be  daunted.  '  For  the  moment,' 
she  said,  '  my  beauty  does  not  avail.  The  maid  must  dis- 
appear.' " 

A  puzzled  frown  appeared  upon  her  forehead. 

"  This  lady  seems  an  idle-witted  person,  Mr.  Mansur," 
she  said  contemptuously. 

"  The  case  was  otherwise,  your  ladyship.  My  hero 
had  known  the  town.  The  ladies  of  the  Court,  dazzling 
with  charms;  but  his  love  was  now  won  by  simple  vir- 
tues. My  sex  loves  change." 

Their  glances  crossed,  and  he  continued : 

"  The  little  country  maid  was  ignorant  of  the  world, 
loved  him  for  fancied  qualities,  which  in  truth  had  no  ex- 
istence." 

"  Ah,"  said  Lady  Caroline,  "  a  little  prig." 

"  Destroy  her  ideal  of  him,  or  his  of  her ;  blur  her 
whiteness  with  a  scandal,  or  let  the  scales  fall  from  her 
eyes,  and  my  poor  romance  would  go  to  pieces.  This 
Lilith  knew." 

Her  hands  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair.  She  seemed 
scarcely  to  breathe. 

"  One  day  in  a  lonely  wood,  she  captured  this  maid. 
Her  servants  were  trusty,  and  in  her  yellow-wheeled 
chaise  she  bore  her  off." 

Her  eyes  flashed. 

"  The  case  was  curiously  like  this  present  romance,"  he 


UNAVOWED    CONSPIRATORS         231 

continued.  "  The  maid  walked  often  abroad  alone,  like 
this  Lady  Philida,  who  at  this  moment  is  with  her  foster- 
mother  under  the  same  roof  that  covers  us.  She  went 
home,  as  Lady  Philida  will  return,  by  a  road  which  half 
a  mile  from  here,  passes  a  lonely  corner  where  the  pines 
encroach  upon  the  path."  He  held  her  gaze  as  he  con- 
tinued. "  Lilith  had  her  chaise  windows  darkened.  The 
plan  was  safe,  absurdly  safe.  A  few  words  whispered  to 
a  girl  by  a  lady,  beautiful  and  injured.  And  if  she  kept 
this  girl  a  few  days  from  the  world  and  there  were  in- 
sufficient explanations  upon  her  reappearance,  behold 
Mistress  Grundy  would  prepare  a  blot  to  eclipse  an 
escutcheon  of  Norman  descent." 

She  made  a  movement  of  impatience. 

"  La,  Mr.  Mansur,  your  romance  is  a  fiction  and  poor 
fiction,  or  the  lady  a  fool.  To  steal  a  girl  in  broad  day- 
light !  A  few  questions,  and  the  whole  countryside  would 
tell  whither  they  went." 

"  The  lady  was  no  fool,"  said  Mr.  Mansur.  "  She 
knew  there  was  a  road,  rutty  and  little  frequented,  that 
led  past  the  spot  where  she  captured  the  girl  for  miles  by 
devious  ways  before  it  joined  the  turnpike." 

"  Whither  did  she  take  her?"  she  asked. 

"  To  an  estate  of  hers,  remotely  situated,  and  an  old 
haunt  of  the  Jacobites." 

She  recognised  the  description  of  a  seat  of  her  family, 
which  had  reverted  to  her  from  the  distaff  side.  Even  at 
the  moment  she  wondered  how  he  had  knowledge  of  it. 
She  laughed  at  his  last  phrase. 

"  La,  Mr.  Mansur,  Jacobite?  I  thought  the  scene  was 
laid  in  France !  " 

"  So  it  was,"  he  answered  coolly,  "  but  even  there  loyal 
Englishmen  were  put  to  it  when  kings,  for  policy,  turned 
curious." 

She  arose  with  a  gesture  of  weariness.    For  a  full  mo- 


A   DISCIPLE    OF   CHANCE 

ment  she  stood,  her  finger-tips  lightly  touching  the  table, 
her  eyes  fixed  ahead  of  her.  Her  mind  was  speeding  off, 
arranging  details,  patching  out  weak  places  in  the  plot. 
Then  she  turned  to  him  with  a  languid  suggestion  of  dis- 
missal in  her  manner. 

"  You  are  no  gifted  minstrel,  Mr.  Mansur.  Your  tale 
dragged  woefully  and  seemed  to  have  no  issue." 

"  Of  that  another  time,  perhaps,"  he  answered  with  a 
bow. 

"  Perchance  before  we  meet  again  you'll  have  added  a 
few  details.  And  now,  prithee,  excuse  me,  sir.  I  have 
ridden  far  and  am  weary." 

They  parted  with  mutual  smiles  and  compliments,  seek- 
ing to  deceive  one  another  to  the  last;  but  just  before  Mr. 
Mansur  closed  the  door  upon  himself,  he  spoke  without 
turning  to  look  at  Lady  Caroline. 

"  Can  you  trust  your  servants?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  fools  adore  me,"  she  replied. 

And  upon  this  interval  of  candour,  Mr.  Mansur  bowed 
himself  out. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE   DUCHESS    CREATES   ENTANGLEMENTS 

Yet  doth  an  officious  helper  awkwardly  prevent  her  victory. 

— TUPPER. 

THE  sun  was  slanting  towards  the  west,  when  the  duchess 
looked  up  from  her  letter-writing  to  inquire  about  Lady 
Philida.  She  was  told  that  she  had  been  seen  going  down 
the  road  towards  Oxholme  village  and  had  not  returned. 

The  duchess  made  a  movement  of  annoyance.  She  in- 
tended to  suppress  her  niece's  wanderings,  and  the  frus- 
tration of  her  plans  irritated  her.  But  Philida  had  never 
hitherto  delayed  so  late  as  this.  She  was  conscious  of  a 
momentary  feeling  of  alarm,  as  she  saw  the  pale  glow 
upon  the  limes  without  her  window,  and  realised  that  the 
sun's  weak  rays  told  of  its  nearness  to  the  western  horizon. 
Within  an  hour  it  would  be  down  behind  the  Malvern 
Hills. 

Despite  her  occasional  outbursts  of  almost  brutal  can- 
dour, the  duchess  was  in  many  respects  a  secretive  woman. 
Much  truth,  and  often  unpleasant  truth,  she  told  to 
others,  but  in  unsuspected  corners  of  her  heart  she  jeal- 
ously cherished  certain  reservations.  Her  reticence  was 
capricious.  She  kept  a  guard  over  phases  of  her  experi- 
ence which  many  women,  more  discreet,  would  have  con- 
fessed without  a  second  thought. 

This  absence  of  Philida  upon  a  day  of  such  import,  a 
day  too  that  clothed  the  girl  with  an  added  dignity,  gave 
her  especial  annoyance.  She  was  anxious  to  get  her  safely 
back  and  intended  to  give  her  a  sound  rating  and  a  warn- 
ing. She  resolved  at  the  same  time  that  this  should  be 
accomplished  as  quietly  as  possible.  She  had  had  enough 

233 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

of  Sybil's  tongue  for  one  day,  and  she  disliked  appearing 
as  having  indulged  the  girl  to  the  point  of  indiscretion. 

She  threw  down  her  pen  and,  with  her  prompt  energy, 
sought  her  niece  in  her  room  and  in  her  usual  familiar 
haunts.  She  did  not  find  her. 

Sybil  was  upon  the  terrace,  chatting  with  Sir  Geoffrey 
and  Mr.  Walpole. 

The  duchess'  alarm  increased  as  the  sun  neared  set- 
ting. She  determined  herself  to  seek  Philida  at  the  Royal 
Arms. 

She  donned  her  Capuchin,  and  set  out  upon  her  quest. 
The  scent  of  the  flowers  in  the  rose  garden,  as  she  passed 
through  it,  was  heavy  with  the  touch  of  approaching 
evening.  This  impressed  upon  her  the  lateness  of  the 
hour  and  increased  within  her  the  irritation  peculiar  to 
quick-tempered  people  when  they  are  alarmed.  She  passed 
along  the  road  by  the  pine-shadowed  corner,  turned  off 
across  the  fields,  and  entered  Mrs.  Culpepper's  room.  In 
her  anxiety,  she  scarcely  vouchsafed  to  knock. 

The  hostess  of  the  Royal  Arms,  her  face  as  placid  as 
usual,  in  grey  stuff  dress  and  white  cap  and  apron,  was 
writing  out  labels  for  conserves,  in  a  clear,  upright  hand. 
Her  unruffled  appearance  acted  like  pepper  upon  the 
duchess'  mood.  Mrs.  Culpepper  looked  up  in  surprise  to 
see  that  peeress  in  her  brown  Capuchin,  staff  in  hand,  her 
face  crimson  from  her  rapid  walk,  glaring  at  her  from 
the  open  doorway. 

"Where  is  Lady  Philida?"  was  her  imperative  de- 
mand. 

Mrs.  Culpepper's  pen  fell,  leaving  a  trail  or  Hack  ink 
upon  the  paper.  Her  face  flushed  pink. 

"Lady  Philida!"  she  gasped.  "Is  she  not  at  home, 
your  grace  ?  " 

"  At  home,"  echoed  the  duchess,  lowering  her  voice  in- 
voluntarily against  possible  prying  ears,  "  no." 


ENTANGLEMENTS  235 

"  But  she  left  here  two  hours  since,"  cried  Mrs.  Cul- 
pepper  helplessly. 

For  the  moment  she  had  been  too  overcome  to  rise,  but 
she  now  dropped  the  duchess  a  curtsey,  and  looked  back  at 
her  pleadingly. 

"  She  told  me  she  was  returning  by  the  usual  path," 
she  went  on. 

"  This  comes  of  allowing  her  to  tramp  about  the 
country,"  said  the  duchess.  "  I  should  have  forbid  her 
long  ago.  Now,"  she  turned  savagely  upon  the  bewil- 
dered woman,  "  what  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  There  is  Michael,"  whispered  Mrs.  Culpepper,  flut- 
tering towards  the  door. 

The  duchess  had  seated  herself  and  was  endeavouring 
to  collect  her  thoughts. 

"  Michael  ?  "  she  said.  "  Well,  fetch  him,  but  not  a 
syllable  to  anyone  beside." 

A  moment  later  Michael  entered.  His  intellectual 
face  was  pale  from  the  news  he  had  just  heard.  His  slight 
figure,  with  its  somewhat  stooping  shoulders,  was  carried 
with  a  dignity  free  from  self -consciousness.  The  haughty 
duchess  was  aware  that  his  presence  gave  her  a  sense 
of  support.  This  usually  dominating  woman  turned  to- 
wards him  without  a  word.  Her  manner  appealed  and 
questioned. 

"  I'll  search,  your  grace,"  he  said,  as  if  he  made  an- 
swer, "  and  make  inquiries." 

All  her  authority  was  in  arms  again  at  the  last  word. 

"No,"  she  exclaimed,  rising;  "mind  you,  no  inquiries. 
I  will  not  have  the  Lady  Philida's  name  bandied  from 
mouth  to  mouth  about  the  countryside.  Search,"  she 
said,  "  and  go  about  it  smartly,  but  no  gossip.  Return 
as  soon  as  may  be." 

Michael  departed,  and  the  hour  the  duchess  waited 
seemed  an  eternity.  She  walked  the  room;  she  berated 


236  A   DISCIPLE    OF   CHANCE 

Mrs.  Culpepper,  whose  meek  bearing  roused  her  to  impa- 
tient fury.  When  at  last  Michael  appeared,  white  and 
breathless,  but  with  no  single  syllable  of  news  about 
Philida  other  than  they  already  possessed,  the  duchess  was 
left  wordless  from  the  shock. 

"  Had  we  not  best  search  the  countryside,  ypur 
grace?"  ventured  Michael,  emboldened  by  his  love. 

Even  in  the  midst  of  her  sharp  fear  the  duchess  put 
the  thought  away. 

"We  must  not  have  a  scandal;  we  must  not  have  a 
scandal,"  she  repeated  with  white  lips.  "  What  visitors 
have  you  had  at  the  inn  to-day?  "  she  asked,  ignoring  the 
weeping  Mrs.  Culpepper,  as  if  she  did  not  exist,  and  fix- 
ing an  eye,  despite  the  terrors  to  which  she  was  a  prey, 
upon  Michael. 

"  The  Flying  Mail ;  a  lady  and  a  gentleman  travelling 
past  to  Hereford;  two  gentlemen,  fair-spoken  men, 
though  one  had  a  squint ;  they  did  not  name  their  destina- 
tion." 

It  was  Mrs.  Culpepper  who  replied,  for  the  absent- 
minded  Michael  gave  little  heed  to  the  guests  who  came 
and  went  at  the  inn. 

"  And  those  were  all  ?  "  asked  the  duchess  sharply. 

"  And  one  lady  in  a  chaise  with  three  servants — Lady 
Caroline  Dashwood,"  added  Mrs.  Culpepper,  parentheti- 
cally, as  if  so  grand  a  dame  hardly  suffered  to  be  named 
in  the  inn's  ordinary  day-book. 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  holding  up  her  cane  for 
silence;  and  she  knit  her  brows. 

The  name  came  to  her  with  an  impression  of  recent 
scandal.  She  did  not  reflect  long.  A  few  seconds  later 
conviction  seized  her  as  strong  as  a  revelation. 

"  The  hussy !  "  she  exclaimed,  shaking  her  stick  in  the 
air.  "  The  brazen  hussy !  This  is  her  work ;  this  is 
Yerington's  work,  the  feather-brain;  this  is  your  work!  " 


ENTANGLEMENTS  237 

turning  fiercely  upon  Mrs.  Culpepper.  "You  are  all  in 
it,  and  so  am  I  for  indulging  her.  Michael,  you  must  be 
off  with  me  to  Lord  Yerington's." 

Still  intent  upon  her  determination  to  maintain  secrecy, 
she  sent  off  a  short  note  to  Mr.  Walpole : 

"  DEAR  HORRY: 

"  Lie  for  me,  I  intreat  you.  I'm  too  distraught  for  inven- 
tion myself.  Neither  Philida  nor  I  shall  be  back  until  to- 
morrow. Silence  that  giddy  jade,  Mistress  Sybil,  and  that 
fool  Baxter,  and  the  servants. 

"Yours, 

"MARY  GROOMS: 

"P.  S.— Perhaps  'twould  be  well  to  tell  them  that  Philida 
had  an  attack  of  the  heart,  and  that  I  am  detained  here  with 
her  at  Mrs.  Culpepper's.  We  can  see  no  one.  Lie  well,  if 
you  love  me.  Yes,  this  will  do,  with  such  additions  as  occur 
to  you.  I  know  you  are  safe  as  a  sepulchre  for  secrets.  I'll 
tell  you  all  when  I  see  you,  and  we'll  compare  notes  before 
I  tell  my  tale." 

This  she  despatched  by  Mr.  Culpepper  himself,  an'd 
then  issued  her  orders  to  the  hostess  of  the  Royal  Arms. 
One  room  she  was  to  keep  closed,  and  to  circulate  the 
report  that  Philida  was  confined  therein  by  a  sudden  at- 
tack of  the  heart  and  that  she,  the  duchess,  was  with  her. 
There  she  was  to  convey  food  and,  she  added : 

"  See  that  it  is  eaten,  for  I  relish  my  victuals.  I  must 
trust  you  and  your  invention,  and  I  know  you  love  the 
child;  mayhap  your  affection  will  help  your  wits.  God 
grant  it ! " 

And  having  woven  an  elaborate  web,  and  so  paved  the 
way  to  numberless  possible  blunders,  she  left  the  inn  with 
Michael. 

She  was  not  intent  upon  her  dignity  at  this  moment, 
and,  to  avoid  observation,  left  by  way  of  the  stable-yard. 
The  village  was  built  along  one  broad  street,  and  they 
found  themselves  almost  immediately  in  open  fields.  The 


238  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

twilight  had  fallen  and,  even  if  they  were  perceived,  they 
would  not  be  easily  recognised. 

Michael  was  in  a  ferment  of  agitation  and  anxiety. 
Again  and  again  he  looked  in  amazement  at  this  woman, 
as  she  took  her  difficult  way  over  the  fields  and  the 
ploughed  ground,  controlling  her  agitation  in  obedience 
to  an  exaggerated  prudence  which  he  regarded  almost  with 
contempt.  Was  Lady  Philida's  fate  to  be  left  hours 
longer  in  doubt  because  of  the  duchess'  insane  dread  of  a 
syllable  of  gossip?  He  could  scarcely  credit  it,  and  yet 
the  distress  that  urged  the  duchess  forward  became  sharply 
accented  almost  as  soon  as  they  left  the  village  a  furlong 
behind  them.  She  began  to  pant,  but  stay  she  would  not, 
until  a  sharp  stitch  in  her  side  brought  her  to  a  reluctant 
pause.  Only  for  a  moment  she  rested  upon  a  stone  show- 
ing faintly  grey  in  the  dimness,  before  she  was  off  again. 

They  approached  Oxholme  Castle  by  the  road,  fearing 
that  a  short  cut  across  the  park  would  bring  a  challenge 
from  a  gamekeeper.  Fortunately  the  gates  were  still 
open,  and  by  a  narrow  chance  they  slipped  past.  The 
spreading  lawns  were  interrupted  only  in  places  by  flights 
of  stone  steps  spanning  the  terraces.  The  great  door  of 
the  castle,  which  opened  upon  the  inner  quadrangle,  was 
closed;  the  mullioned  windows  to  right  and  left  of  it 
unlighted. 

The  duchess  passed  round  the  tower  and  through  the 
close  box-hedges.  A  peacock,  perched  upon  a  stone  balus- 
trade, shrieked  at  their  approach ;  the  note  sounded  start- 
lingly  loud  in  the  pervading  silence.  A  group  of  win- 
dows, tucked  into  a  corner  where  the  tower  joined  the 
quadrangle,  was  illuminated.  Some  instinct  told  the 
duchess  that  there  she  should  find  Lord  Yerington. 

She  approached  and  looked  in. 

Lord  Yerington  was  seated  at  his  escritoire,  writing. 
Upon  his  left  hand  she  could  discern  half  a  dozen  letters, 


ENTANGLEMENTS  239 

sealed  and  ready  for  despatching.  At  this  instant  it  was 
evident  that  inspiration  had  deserted  him,  for  his  pen  hung 
uncertainly  over  the  paper.  He  lifted  his  eyes  and  they 
met  the  duchess'.  Her  face  was  dangerously  red;  her 
hair  was  disarranged ;  her  expression  'disordered. 

He  sprang  towards  her  with  a  cry  of  alarm  and  ques- 
tion. 

"My  God!    Philida!" 

"  Assist  me,"  gasped  the  duchess. 

He  helped  her  up  the  two  steps  leading  to  the  room, 
and  she  fell  into  a  chair,  struggling  for  breath.  She  was 
completely  exhausted.  He  extended  his  hand  towards  the 
bell-rope,  but  she  restrained  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  Give  me  an  instant  to  recover  myself,"  she  said. 

His  face  was  filled  with  profound  concern.  He  con- 
trolled himself  and  waited. 

"What  is  wrong?"  he  asked  at  length. 

"  Everything  is  wrong." 

He  gave  an  exclamation,  but  she  held  him  by  a  warning 
movement  of  her  hand. 

"  I  told  you  to-day,"  she  said,  "  that  your  bogies  of  the 
past  had  no  present  existence.  They  have.  This  after- 
noon Lady  Caroline  Dashwood  was  at  the  Royal  Arms. 
Philida  also  was  there.  She  returned  by  the  road  past 
the  pines.  Lady  Caroline's  chaise  disappeared  in  that  di- 
rection and  came  back  no  more." 

Her  statement  had  been  characteristically  brief  and 
pointed. 

"But  Philida?"  he  asked. 

"  Has  disappeared."  Her  voice  rang  out  sharply. 
"  Look  at  that  darkness !  "  She  pointed  to  the  window. 
"  The  child  is  out  in  that  night,  God  knows  where." 

The  shock  staggered  him.  He  began  pacing  the  floor, 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  the  knuckles  showing  white 
in  the  strain.  The  duchess  watched  him,  wondering  at 


240  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

his  quiet,  ready  to  resent  it  if  it  continued  a  few  seconds 
longer.  She  did  not  understand  him.  He  came  to  an 
abrupt  pause  before  her,  just  as  she  was  opening  her  lips 
to  indignant  speech. 

"  How  long  ago  was  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Three  hours  and  more,"  she  replied,  "  and  here 
are  you  wasting  the  precious  moments  walking  about  like 
a  beast  in  a  cage." 

His  eyes  were  concentrated. 

"  We've  no  time  for  blunders,  your  grace,"  he  said. 
"  Where  is  Mr.  Mansur?  " 

•"  What  difference  does  he  make  ? "  protested  the 
duchess.  "  I  thought  I  had  found  a  man  to  help  me. 
Here  you  are " 

"  You  left  him  at  Marsden?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered  impatiently. 

Yerington  raised  his  hand  in  imprecation,  his  face  so 
transformed  she  scarcely  knew  him. 

"Curse  him!"  he  cried.  "Curse  him!  We've  him 
to  thank  for  this." 

"  And  what  of  your  Lady  Caroline?  "  she  asked.  "  But 
what  are  we  to  do?  I've  brought  Michael  Culpepper 
with  me." 

Lord  Yerington  went  to  the  window  and  bade  Michael 
enter. 

The  duchess  regarded  Yerington  with  wonder.  He 
was  alert,  cool  and  masterful.  She  felt  herself  suddenly 
powerless  before  him.  A  new  man  was  revealed  to  her; 
a  stronger  man  than  she  had  supposed  lay  within  his 
personality.  The  repression  and  resource  of  his  manner 
took  possession  of  her.  She  found  herself  following  his 
directions  almost  with  meekness.  Upon  one  thing  only 
did  she  insist  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  mad  woman — upon 
secrecy. 

A  few  minutes  later  Lord  Yerington's  chaise  was  on  its 


ENTANGLEMENTS 

way  to  Wardsleigh  Abbey.     Michael  and  Foulkes,  well 
armed,  were  upon  the  box. 

Within  the  chaise  sat  the  duchess,  shaken  for  the  mo- 
ment by  a  severe  nervous  chill.  Lord  Yerington,  with 
brooding  eyes,  watched  the  road  as  they  sped  along — the 
dark  clumps  of  trees ;  the  blur  of  lighted  villages — ruling 
his  vast  impatience  into  immobility. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE   YELLOW-WHEELED   CHAISE 

Men  of  no  character,  old  women   and  young  ones  of  ques- 
tionable  reputation,  are  great  authors  of  lies. 

— BEAU  NASH. 

As  Philida  began  her  journey  back  to  Marsden  House, 
she  was  bubbling  with  happiness.  She  felt  in  sympathy 
with  the  little  creatures  of  the  wood  and  air.  She  chat- 
tered to  the  squirrels  and  sent  chirruping  invitations  to 
the  birds,  who  inspected  her  half  suspiciously,  their  heads 
cocked  upon  one  side.  The  child  heart  in  her  was  but 
freshened  in  the  full  tide  of  her  love.  She  reverted  to 
her  infantile  tricks  and  peered  amongst  the  gnarled  roots 
of  the  trees  for  entrance  to  gnome-land,  and  lifted  the 
great  lily-pads  in  the  pool  which  shone  midway  in  her 
journey,  to  seek  for  sleeping  fairies  beneath.  She  loved 
to  befool  herself  with  these  beliefs,  cherished  from  her 
babyhoo'd,  and  something  of  their  quaint  mystery  still 
lurked  beneath  her  clear-eyed  gaze. 

She  turned  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the  pines,  humming 
the  refrain: 

"  Chantez,  chantez,  ma  belle, 
Chantez,  chantez  toujours." 

The  road  was  seldom  used,  except  by  visitors  to  Mars- 
den.  It  was,  therefore,  with  something  like  surprise  that 
she  saw  a  chaise  with  bright  yellow  wheels  and  a  pair  of 
well-built  horses  that  looked  as  if  they  possessed  both 
speed  and  endurance,  drawn  up  at  the  side  of  the  road. 
These  horses  were  strikingly  unlike  the  white  Flemish 
mares  which  usually  served  the  local  people  of  quality. 

249 


THE    YELLOW-WHEELED    CHAISE     243 

The  coachman  was  still  upon  the  box,  but  the  two 
footmen  had  descended  and  were  standing  at  the  horses' 
heads. 

The  road  was  shadowy  and  the  situation  lonely,  and 
the  silent  chaise,  with  its  closed  and  curtained  windows, 
impressed  her  with  a  sense  of  something  sinister.  Her 
song  died  to  silence,  and  she  felt  an  involuntary  impulse 
of  retreat.  This  was  so  unlike  her  fearless  self,  that  she 
conquered  it  and  essayed  to  pass  the  waiting  vehicle. 

As  she  approached,  one  of  the  footmen  left  his  station 
and  advanced  towards  her,  at  the  same  time  touching  his 
hat  with  two  respectful  fingers.  He  had  a  shrewd  face 
and,  as  she  looked  at  him,  his  shifty  eyes  added  to  an  al- 
ready unpleasant  impression. 

"  I  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon,"  he  began,  "  but  does  it 
chance  your  ladyship  can  direct  us?  Are  we  on  the  way 
to  Westen-sub-edge  ?  " 

Her  surprise  relieved  her  of  her  lurking  sense  of  fear. 

"  You  are  altogether  off  the  way,"  she  replied.  "  You 
should  have  turned  two  roads  back  on  the  turnpike  to 
Cheltenham." 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  answered  the  man,  scratching 
his  head  shamefacedly.  "  But  his  lordship  would  not  have 
it.  Pardon  the  liberty,  your  ladyship,  but  his  lordship 
is  that  set  with  two  bottles  of  port  in  his  inside,  in  a 
manner  of  speaking." 

Lady  Philida  took  a  step  onward.  She  did  not  alto- 
gether like  the  man's  manner,  still  less  did  she  like  the 
idea  of  his  lordship  and  the  two  bottles  of  port. 

"  Pardon  me,  your  ladyship,"  said  the  man  humbly, 
"  if  you  could  but  put  it  to  his  lordship  that  we  are  clean 
off  the  road ;  if  he  can't  be  brought  to  reason,  we'll  be  in 
these  woods  till  midnight.  If  you  could  but  say  it  so 
that  he  could  hear  you  through  the  door,  in  a  manner  of 
speaking." 


244 

She  hesitated.  The  footman  hastened  forward  and 
opened  the  chaise  door  a  few  inches,  revealing  the  black- 
ness within. 

"  Her  ladyship  says,"  addressing  the  unseen  passenger 
within  with  an  air  of  intense  respect,  "  that  it  was  the 
turnpike  road  we  passed  two  miles  back." 

He  jerked  his  thumb  insinuatingly  towards  the  car- 
riage. 

"  Will  you  please  to  come  a  little  nearer,  your  lady- 
ship, so  his  lordship  can  hear,  or  it's  clean  starved  we  shall 
be?" 

Still  the  situation  did  not  invite  her.  Then  her  native 
kindliness  conquered  her  growing  repugnance. 

She  approached  within  a  few  feet  of  the  carriage  and 
spoke  with  her  back  turned  towards  the  footman. 

"  The  road  to  Westen-sub-edge "  she  began,  but 

she  got  no  further.  Something  muffling  was  thrown 
about  her  head  and  shoulders  and  the  next  instant  she 
was  lifted  and  half  hurled  into  the  interior  of  the  chaise. 
Almost  immediately  it  gave  a  lurch,  and  with  a  gasp  of 
terror,  she  knew  that  it  was  moving. 

The  pace  increased  rapidly;  the  cracking  of  whips 
sounded,  and  the  vehicle  lunged  from  side  to  side. 

Instinctively  she  fought  with  the  smothering  muffler 
about  her  head.  She  felt  no  surprise  that  it  should  be 
slightly  fastened,  and  that  its  woolly  roughness  was  soon 
removed.  She  was  in  the  throes  of  a  terror,  too  great  for 
wonder;  she  screamed  shrilly  and  beat  at  the  windows. 
They  were  muffled,  and  her  frenzied  fists  sank  in  the 
soft  wadding.  She  struggled  to  open  them,  and  soon  her 
knuckles  were  bleeding  with  her  efforts.  At  length  she 
fell  back  exhausted.  Her  haunting  horror  was  of  her 
unseen  companion. 

A  moment  later  she  felt  a  movement.  To  her  amaze- 
ment, it  was  accompanied  by  the  unmistakable  silken 


THE    YELLOW-WHEELED    CHAISE     245 

swish  of  a  woman's  skirt.  Philida  sat  back,  straining 
her  eyes  into  the  darkness.  A  hand  stole  out  and  caught 
hers. 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,"  said  a  woman's  voice. 

Intuitively  Philida's  heart  contracted  with  antagonism 
toward  the  soft,  grasping  hand  and  the  softer  voice. 

"  I  know  not  your  purposes,"  she  said,  though  the  rapid 
beating  of  her  terrified  heart  was  cutting  off  her  breath; 
"  but  I  do  know  I'm  being  conveyed  from  my  home,  and 
against  my  will.  I  insist  that  this  door  be  opened  and 
that  I  may  be  allowed  to  depart." 

The  silence  that  followed  redoubled  Philida's  fear. 
She  battled  to  control  herself.  Had  she  but  known  it, 
the  other  silent  occupant  of  the  chaise  was  in  turn  en- 
deavouring to  keep  herself  in  command.  Her  savage  re- 
sentment against  Lady  Philida  almost  impelled  her  into 
open  reviling. 

"  Child,"  Lady  Caroline  said  at  length,  turning  her 
voice  to  a  cadence  of  patience,  "  believe  me,  I  am  acting 
for  your  good." 

An  angry  sob  answered  her. 

"  Think,  my  'dear,"  she  continued,  "  what  a  bold  move 
this  is.  Consider  the  risks  I  am  running  in  the  venture, 
and  all  for  you." 

Lady  Philida  did  not  reply.  She  even  stilled  her  sob- 
bing to  a  catch  in  the  throat  now  and  then. 

Lady  Caroline  became  a  prey  to  curiosity.  She  had 
been  prepared  for  hysteria  or  wild  reproaches.  This  un- 
looked-for spirit  aroused  her  to  more  acute  jealousy. 
Perhaps  Yerington  had  selected  no  mere  pretty  plaything 
after  all.  The  wish  to  see  her  companion  overpowered 
her.  She  was  safe  behind  her  mask.  With  cautious 
fingers  she  began  to  unfasten  a  corner  of  the  padded 
window. 

"  I  warn  you,"   she  said,  as   Philida  made  a  move- 


246 

ment,  "  that  we  are  choosing  deserted  roads  and  that  my 
footmen  ride  upon  the  steps." 

The  light  filtered  into  the  'dim  carriage. 

The  two  women  studied  one  another. 

Philida  beheld  a  figure  of  unmistakable  grace,  but  the 
black  velvet  mask  betrayed  nothing  of  her  features.  Lady 
Caroline  saw  a  girl  whose  face  was  pale  and  tear-stained, 
but  still  lovely  amid  a  tangle  of  disarranged  hair.  She 
was  crushed  into  a  corner  of  the  chaise,  her  arms  wrapped 
about  her  knees,  her  whole  attitude  betraying  her  supple 
youthfulness.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Lady  Caroline 
in  a  stare  of  aversion  greater  than  her  fear. 

Lady  Caroline  dropped  the  window  covering,  with  an 
exclamation.  She  had  seen  the  girl's  beauty.  She  thought 
herself  secure  in  her  incognito ;  she  resolved  upon  her  role- 
She  began  her  narration,  speaking  with  a  soft  flood  of 
eloquence..  True  to  her  nature,  she  became  absorbed  in 
the  dramatic  quality  of  the  tale  she  wove.  It  was  an  in- 
genious one,  to  which  she  added  an  artistic  touch  here 
and  there  with  a  quaver  of  her  voice  that  might  have 
convinced  older  and  wiser  heads  than  Philida's,  but  Phili- 
da's  head  had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  it  was  her  heart  to 
which  she  was  listening. 

When  the  tale  was  finished,  again  Lady  Caroline  laid 
a  hand  on  Philida's. 

"  I  have  confessed  my  shame  to  you,"  she  said  brokenly. 
"  I  could  die  of  the  agony  of  it.  I  have  unmasked  my 
heart  to  a  stranger.  Dear  child,  I  have  chosen  this  des- 
perate course  that  you  too  might  not  be  sacrificed;  that 
your  life  might  not  be  committed  to  a  man  who  knows 
not  love  nor  truth  nor  constancy." 

Philida  shrank  from  her. 

"  Madam,"  she  said,  "  if  your  purpose  in  the  course 
you  have  taken  has  been  but  to  decry  Lord  Yerington, 
then  is  your  ruse  wasted.  I  prithee,  let  me  depart.  I  do 


THE    YELLOW-WHEELED    CHAISE     247 

not  know  you,  and  no  one  else  shall  have  knowledge  of 
this." 

Lady  Caroline  could  not  believe  her  ears.  She  had 
never  acted  better,  nor  with  less  effect,  and  now  for  this 
child  to  hold  out  against  her.  A  laugh  reached  Philida 
in  the  darkness. 

"  A  bribe,"  called  Lady  Caroline,  "  as  I  live,  a  bribe ! 
'  None  shall  hear  of  this,' "  she  mimicked.  "  I'll  take 
good  care  many  shall  hear  of  it,  my  lady,  before  I'm  done 
with  you." 

For  mile  after  mile  they  lurched  over  the  unequal 
road.  Philida  crouched  in  her  corner ;  Lady  Caroline  re- 
solved not  to  break  the  silence  again. 

As  time  sped  on  Philida,  because  she  was  young,  be- 
cause she  was  weary,  because  she  knew  not  the  end  of  the 
adventure,  and  above  all,  because  the  day  had  contained 
more  happiness  than  all  other  days,  at  length,  despite  her 
pride,  sobbed  fitfully  in  childish,  choking  sobs,  her  cheek 
pressed  against  the  cushion. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

LADY    CAROLINE    CHECKMATES 

A  silver  thread  of  goodness  in 
The  black  serge  cloth  of  wrong. 
— TUPPER. 

THE  chaise  stopped  amid  a  scattering  of  gravel.  The 
footman  opened  the  door.  Lady  Caroline  sprang  out 
with  an  ejaculation  of  relief,  and  it  was  closed  behind 
her.  Philida  could  hear  an  exchange  of  question  and 
reply  and  an  exclamation  of  suppressed  surprise.  She 
knew  then  their  visit  was  unexpected.  It  seemed  an 
eternity  that  she  waited  with  her  ears  strained  for  every 
sound  without.  She  distinguished  the  voices  of  the  men, 
interrupted  occasionally  by  a  smothered  laugh;  the 
tramping  of  the  wearied  horses,  or  the  chink  of  their 
harness  as  they  tossed  their  heads. 

At  length  the  chaise  door  was  thrown  open,  the  yel- 
low-red glow  of  a  flambeau  danced  above  her.  It 
lighted  up  the  front  of  an  old  manor-house.  The  grey 
tone  of  its  stone  proved  how  far  she  was  from  Worcester- 
shire. Two  gargoyles  above  the  doorway  seemed  to  mow 
and  grin  in  the  dancing  light.  The  flambeau  was  held 
by  a  woman,  whose  ruffled  grey  hair  shone  beneath  it. 
Its  gleam  revealed  her  hard-featured,  expressionless  face. 
She  spoke  with  a  trace  of  surly  respect. 

"  Will  your  ladyship  descend  ?  "  she  said. 

Cramped  from  her  long  confinement,  Philida  did  so. 
The  house  gloomed  above  her,  dark  and  forbidding. 

"  Whither  do  you  take  me  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  thrill 
of  fear. 

248 


LADY    CAROLINE    CHECKMATES     249 

"  Within,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

Lady  Caroline  stood  before  the  fire  leaping  up  the 
old  chimney  which  had  so  long  been  cold.  She  had  little 
fancy  for  the  shadowy  old  room,  with  its  pervading 
odour  of  dampness,  nor  for  the  whispering  wind,  which 
had  risen  steadily.  If  waiting  had  not  been  a  necessary 
part  of  her  plan,  she  would  have  given  herself  over 
without  further  delay  to  an  attack  of  the  vapours. 

The  apartment  was  but  dimly  illuminated  by  a  pair  of 
candles  in  brass  candlesticks,  set  upon  the  oaken  table 
that  ran  down  the  middle  of  the  long  room. 

Lady  Caroline  left  her  place  by  the  hearth  and,  going 
to  the  window,  opened  the  casement.  The  candles  becked 
and  flickered  in  the  draught  as  she  did  so. 

The  moon  was  beginning  to  shine  through  the  shredded 
clouds,  which  the  wind  was  driving,  and  its  light  was 
turning  the  mist  that  lay  along  the  ground  into  a  sea  of 
silver.  From  this  the  dark,  stunted  trees  arose,  ghost- 
like. As  Lady  Caroline  leaned  out,  she  listened  in- 
tently. The  creaking  of  a  lightning-blasted  elm  before 
the  door,  to  which  the  house  owed  its  name,  the  sough- 
ing of  the  breeze,  and  die  monotonous  hollow  complaint 
of  the  frogs,  were  the  only  interruptions  to  the  pre- 
vailing silence. 

Still  she  leaned  forward;  then  she  gave  an  exclama- 
tion as  if  an  expected  sound  had  reached  her  ears. 

At  first  it  was  so  faint  as  scarcely  to  be  distinguish- 
able ;  then  it  became  louder  and  clearer.  Over  the  brood- 
ing mist  and  past  the  stunted  trees  it  came,  trr-app, 
trr-app,  trr-app,  the  sound  of  a  horse's  galloping  hoofs 
upon  the  hard  ground.  With  a  quick,  furtive  move- 
ment she  drew  the  window-casement  shut  and  hasped 
it.  Next  she  began  to  prepare  her  mise  en  scene. 

By  her  order,  a  repast  had  already  been  spread  at  one 


250  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

end  of  the  oaken  table.  The  steam  curled  up  from  the 
fragrant  punch.  The  candles  were  set  where  they  flanked 
the  pewter  plates,  the  best  service  the  old  house  afforded. 
A  moment  she  stood  with  her  head  upon  one  side,  her 
finger  across  her  lips,  studying  the  effect.  Apparently 
it  contented  her,  for  she  laughed  softly  and  gave  a  little 
satisfied  touch  to  the  fork  and  knife  that  lay  beside  the 
second  plate,  set  for  an  expected  guest. 

All  this  was  in  obedience  to  her  dramatic  instinct, 
which  demanded  that  the  scene  which  she  designed  should 
have  effective  accompaniments.  To  stand  about  the 
gaunt  old  room,  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  hands; 
to  provide  herself  with  no  means  to  accent  an  attitude  of 
elaborate  carelessness,  would  have  lost  her  coup  half  its 
effectiveness. 

A  moment  later  the  rapid  hoof-beats  passed  the  win- 
dow of  the  room  in  which  she  sat,  and  ceased  with  a 
suddenness  that  told  the  tale  of  a  hasty  hand  upon  the 
bridle. 

Lady  Caroline  flew  to  seat  herself  at  the  table.  She 
was  nipping  fastidiously  at  the  viands  upon  her  plate 
when  a  spurred  boot  rang  imperatively  upon  the  stone 
flags.  She  continued  to  dissect  a  piece  of  boiled  mutton, 
and  did  not  look  up. 

"  La,  Mr.  Mansur,"  she  said  sweetly,  "  you  have  rid- 
den hastily." 

The  assured  foot  halted  with  a  check  of  surprise. 

She  turned  slowly  round  towards  him.  He  was  clad 
in  a  grey  coat,  and  a  black  riding-wig;  his  boots  were 
splashed  with  mud. 

"  It  was  sweet  of  you  to  hasten.  See,"  she  pointed 
to  the  chair  opposite  her  and  to  the  plate,  "  my  hospital- 
ity has  already  foreshadowed  you — Sir  Rescuer." 

Mr.  Mansur  flushed  angrily. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  understand." 


LADY    CAROLINE    CHECKMATES     251 

"  Lud,"  she  answered,  "  of  course  you  don't.  But 
that's  because  you  are  just  a  stupid,  blundering  man,  who 
chose  to  pit  his  wits  against  a  woman." 

He  took  a  wrathful  stride  forward,  leaned  one  hand 
upon  the  table,  and  brought  his  menacing  face  within 
the  candle  glow. 

"  We  waste  words,"  he  said,  threateningly.  "  I  came 
here  for  the  Lady  Philida  and  I  mean  to  ride  hence  with 
her  within  the  next  five  minutes.  Take  me  to  her." 

"  La !  La ! "  she  exclaimed  with  a  pretty  air  of  argu- 
ment. "  And  now,  monsieur,  who  wastes  words?  As  if 
I  did  not  know  what  you  meant  to  do." 

As  he  looked  at  her,  a  momentary  doubt  of  the  wisdom 
of  his  tactics  crossed  his  mind;  but  the  bullying  instinct 
conquered. 

"  I'll  search  myself,"  he  exclaimed,  swinging  around 
on  his  heel,  and  advancing  towards  the  door. 

"  La!  La!  "  said  Lady  Caroline  gently,  her  eyes  up- 
cast. 

Puzzled  into  a  pause,  he  looked  back  at  her  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Go  on,"  she  urged.  "  Prithee,  hasten,  Sir  Rescuer. 
Find  her  if  you  can  and  carry  her  back  to  her  doting 
lord.  Do!  'Tis  satisfaction  to  play  Fate  to  two  such 
pretty  lovers.  Can't  you  see  them  reunited  in  each  other's 
arms?  I  vow  and  protest  the  vision  moves  me." 

She  raised  her  handkerchief  and  mopped  her  eyes  deli- 
cately. 

Wrung  to  an  agony  of  jealousy  by  her  words,  he 
stood  and  lowered  at  her.  Involuntarily  his  hand  closed 
upon  his  sword-hilt,  though  he  faced  a  woman. 

She  saw  the  movement  and  laughed,  pointing  a  taunt- 
ing finger. 

"  Poor  little  me!  "  she  cried.  "  Poor  little  defenceless 
me !  A  sword  and  pistols,  I'll  go  bail.  Prithee,  have  you 


252  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

a  knife  in  your  boot  like  the  Spaniards;  or  a  stiletto 
like  the  Neapolitans?  Such  an  armoury  against  one 
woman ! " 

His  face  was  distorted  with  anger,  as  he  turned  back 
to  where  she  sat. 

"  Doubtless  your  ladyship's  wit,"  he  said  sneeringly, 
"  bespeaks  some  trap  of  which  I  have  no  knowledge. 
Your  insolence  suggests  it." 

She  smiled  at  him  with  a  shrug.  It  was  a  beautiful 
woman  over  whom  the  light  of  the  candles  floated,  and  as 
she  leaned  forward,  her  attitude  was  full  of  grace. 

"  You  are  a  bold  man,  Mr.  Mansur.  But,  remember 
the  rules  of  the  game.  With  a  weak  hand,  finesse,  and 
then,  alack,  consider  what  cards  you  carry.  A  long  suit 

of — hearts "  she  looked  at  him  with  insinuation,  "  is 

monstrous  disconcerting." 

He  saw  her  thrust  and  guessed  that  she  possessed  his 
secret.  The  thought  wrung  a  taunt  from  him. 

"  Your  ladyhip  has  knowledge  of  these  long  suits  of 
hearts,"  he  said.  "  You  are  so  good  at  losing." 

If  this  struck  home,  Lady  Caroline  did  not  betray  it. 
She  was  mincing  delicately  at  the  cold  mutton  before 
her.  It  may  be,  however,  that  it  added  relish  to  her 
next  words. 

"  Methinks,  Mr.  Mansur,  you  make  but  a  poor  rogue. 
A  man  who  chooses  to  use  life  as  a  game  of  fence  must 
see  to  it  that  his  weapons  are  not  flawed,  or  at  crucial 
moments  they  may  betray  him.  A  good  rogue  requires  a 
steady  head  and  a  heart  well  within  his  control.  Also, 
he  must  be  able  justly  to  judge  the  metal  with  which 
he  has  to  deal.  You  see,  my  dear  Mr.  Mansur,  you 
made  a  mistake  when  you  despised  me."  She  dropped 
her  affectation  of  eating  and  turned  towards  him.  "  Now, 
you  are  playing  my  hand  for  me." 

Exasperated,  he  sputtered  out  an  oath. 


LADY    CAROLINE    CHECKMATES     253 

"Playing  your  hand,  madam?  Damme,  I'll  expose 
it!  "  he  cried,  his  spurred  heel  ringing  on  the  flags. 

"  We  waste  time,"  said  Lady  Caroline. 

"  Then,  let  us  be  done  with  it,"  he  answered. 

She  replied,  by  a  gracious,  inviting  wave  of  her  hand 
towards  the  plate  opposite  her  own. 

"  Pray,  then  will  you  not  be  seated  and  let  us  talk 
it  over  like  Christians?  No  good  will  come  of  fasting." 

He  made  an  angry  motion  with  his  arm;  hesitated; 
read  her  face  as  he  had  never  read  it  before.  What  he 
saw  there  counselled  him  to  comply. 

He  seated  himself  upon  the  chair  facing  her  own,  but 
cavalierly,  grudgingly,  one  arm  thrown  across  its  back. 
They  were  enemies  now,  he  was  seeking  to  read  her 
purpose. 

She  filled  his  glass  with  the  steaming  punch. 

He  drank  it  off  mechanically  at  a  draught.  It  was 
an  easy  mask  for  a  threatened  betrayal  of  expression. 

"  To-day  at  the  Royal  Arms,"  began  Lady  Caroline 
without  preamble,  for  there  was  no  need  now  for  a  pose, 
"  you  thought  you  were  using  me.  I  was  to  bring  the 
girl  here.  Then  you  were  to  come  in  your  turn.  You 
were  to  gain  possession  of  her,  and  what  your  plan  was 
then,  the  devil  only  knows.  Gratitude  from  her,  I 
doubt  not,  was  to  play  a  large  share  irr  it.  I  was  to  be 
left  to  bear  the  onus.  A  pretty  trick,  Mr.  Mansur,  to 
put  upon  a  lady." 

Mr.  Mansur  bowed  over  his  punch. 

"  Roguery  has  no  sex,  your  ladyship,"  he  said  coolly. 

"  Why,  your  interview  with  me  at  the  inn  implicated 
you  irretrievably,"  she  said,  contemptuous  of  his  last 
comment.  "  Could  you  push  that  aside  with  your  flimsy 
devices  ?  " 

"  Desperate  ills  need  desperate  remedies,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  as  he  had  a  hundred  times  during  his  mad 


254  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

ride.  In  all  he  had  done,  or  had  planned  to  do,  he  had 
counted  upon  three  things.  He  knew  Yerington  was 
in  desperate  straits  and  the  game  must  be  soon  played 
out.  He  relied  somewhat  upon  the  effect  of  Lady  Caro- 
line's tale  on  the  girl,  and  upon  her  revulsion  of  feeling 
against  Yerington  when  she  knew  of  his  lost  fortune; 
but,  above  all,  he  counted  upon  stamping  himself  upon 
her  memory  in  a  role  in  which  chivalry  and  tenderness 
would  play  so  large  a  part.  He  would  come  to  her 
when  she  was  in  her  sorest  straits,  he  would  be  to  her 
all  that  a  man  could  be, — he  intended  that  their  ride 
home  should  be  somewhat  prolonged;  then  he  hoped  for 
the  rebound  of  her  heart  towards  him  when  Yerington's 
position  became  known. 

For  a  moment  he  sat  lost  in  reflection,  mentally  re- 
viewing his  designs.  This  Lady  Caroline  perceived  and 
chose  this  moment  to  refill  his  pewter  tankard  with  the 
heady  mixture. 

"  Drink  it,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  Good  fortune  to  our 
venture!  " 

She  had  gone  one  step  too  far,  and  defeated  herself. 
She  had  counted  upon  the  added  recklessness  which  an- 
other long  draught  of  the  strong  compound  would  put 
into  him.  He  saw  her  move,  and  it  warned  him  to 
caution  and  a  guard  over  himself. 

There  was  a  sardonic  glint  in  his  eyes  as  he  watched 
her  over  the  brim  of  the  tankard,  affecting  to  comply 
with  her  design. 

"And  what  is  our  venture?"  he  asked,  warily  lead- 
ing her  on. 

She  felt  tempted  to  play  with  him,  but  a  glance  at 
her  watch  restrained  her.  She  observed  his  face  with 
relish.  She  was  to  enjoy  to  the  full  the  expression  her 
next  words  were  to  paint  there. 

She  nodded  towards  a  door  dimly  discernible  at  the 


LADY    CAROLINE    CHECKMATES     255 

end  of  the  long  room.  At  this  moment  the  sound  of  a 
dry  cough  reached  them  from  behind  its  panels. 

She  leaned  forward,  her  eyes  pregnant  with  suggestion, 
and  watched  him  narrowly  to  see  the  poison  work  upon 
him. 

"  There  is  'a  chaplain  in  there  to  whom  my  displeasure 
means  starvation." 

At  first  he  did  not  understand.  Then  slowly  her 
meaning  penetrated.  The  current  of  his  blood  pounded 
in  his  ears.  He  kept  all  expression  from  his  face,  save 
a  quiver  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  which  he  could 
not  control. 

"  Do  you  need  a  father  confessor?"  he  asked,  speak- 
ing low  that  his  voice  might  not  tremble.  "  I  under- 
stand that  to  some  fair  ladies  these  pack-horses  of  the 
conscience  do  not  come  amiss." 

But  her  quick  eyes  had  noted  the  quiver.  For  the 
second  time  that  night,  she  came  direct  to  the  gist  of 
the  matter,  denying  herself  the  luxury  of  preamble. 

"  You  know  the  Duchess  of  Croome,"  she  began. 
"  She  is  a  woman  to  be  reckoned  with,  but  do  you  but 
play  this  night's  work  properly  and  you  will  find  her 
your  best  ally." 

Mansur  did  not  wait  for  her  next  words.  He  arose 
with  calculated  carelessness  from  his  place  by  the  table 
and  within  the  radius  of  the  candle-light.  Going  over, 
he  stood  before  the  fire.  He  knew  that  he  showed  in 
silhouette  against  it,  as  he  faced  the  gloom  of  the  room. 
He  was  determined  that  for  the  next  few  moments  Lady 
Caroline  should  not  read  his  face. 

She  understood  him  perfectly,  and  crossing  her  arms 
upon  the  table,  grinned  at  him. 

"  Now  I  will  give  you  the  duchess'  weak  points,"  she 
went  on.  "  They  are  two.  First,  her  niece,  Lady 
Philida;  second,  her  dread  of  a  single  syllable  from  Mis- 


256  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

tress  Grundy.  All  the  world  knows  this  foible.  She 
may  be  as  bad  as  any  of  the  rest,"  she  ended  with  a 
wanton's  careless  disparagement,  "  but  no  one  could  ever 
lay  a  finger  on  her." 

"  i  don't  follow,"  said  Mr.  Mansur  to  gain  time. 

"  You  and  the  Lady  Philida  disappear  within  an  hour 
of  one  another.  It  will  have  all  the  appearance  of  an 
elopement.  The  world  will  say  that  she  fled  to  avoid 
her  marriage  with  Lord  Yerington,  which  her  aunt  was 
pushing  on.  You  turn  up  the  next  day," — she  paused 
suggestively — "  with  Lady  Philida  and  marriage  lines 
duly  witnessed,  and  though  the  girl  might  weep  and  pro- 
test, the  duchess  would  back  you,  though  she  hated  you, 
and  had  to  starve  her  niece  into  submission  by  a  year's 
imprisonment  in  the  country." 

The  man,  showing  to  Lady  Caroline's  eyes,  black  and 
inexpressive  before  the  fire-glow,  did  not  answer  nor 
move.  She  watched  him  triumphantly.  She  was  con- 
temptuously sure  of  him.  She  returned  to  her  parade 
of  eating,  picking  at  the  viands  with  cattish  delicacy. 

Again  the  dry  cough  sounded. 

Despite  himself,  Mr.  Mansur's  eyes  stole  towards  the 
door  from  whence  it  came. 

The  wind  had  risen  steadily ;  at  moments  its  low  sough- 
ing rose  to  a  wail.  Drops  of  rain  fell  down  the  gaping 
chimney  and  hissed  in  the  fire  behind  him;  a  consuming 
sense  of  his  position  took  hold  upon  his  mind;  the 
solitary  house  standing  in  the  fleeting  snatches  of  moon- 
light; the  mists  hovering  over  the  surrounding  meadows, 
obscuring  the  landscape;  the  gaunt  stunted  trees,  bent 
by  the  prevailing  gales;  the  stretch  of  dim,  grey  road 
leading  off  and  lost  in  the  darkness  and  the  haze.  Then 
his  mind  returned  to  the  shadowed  room  in  which  he 
was  standing.  He  became  acutely  conscious  of  the  man 
behind  the  panels  of  that  door,  who  was  only  waiting 


LADY    CAROLINE    CHECKMATES     257 

like  Fate  for  him  to  lift  his  hand.  He  felt  the  presence 
of  the  trembling,  affrighted  girl  confined  in  some  dis- 
tant chamber  of  this  usually  deserted  house.  Suddenly, 
the  wind  rose  to  a  wild  shriek  and  seemed  to  surround 
him,  to  leave  him  more  definitely  alone  with  his  tempta- 
tion. The  sense  of  Philida's  nearness,  her  accessibility, 
grew  upon  him.  In  his  most  conquering  fancies,  he  had 
scarcely  climbed  to  the  definite  hope  of  a  real  possession 
of  her.  Now,  unexpectedly,  she  was  within  his  grasping. 
The  memory  of  her  loveliness  possessed  him,  left  him 
weak  and  powerless  for  the  moment.  He  felt  his  reason 
reel,  and  that  desire  was  sweeping  him  off  his  feet.  He 
had  so  far  forgotten  himself  that  he  had  moved  further 
into  the  light. 

Lady  Caroline,  seated  where  the  candle-glow  shone 
upon  her,  revealing  her  dark  eyes,  her  rouged  face,  and 
the  crimson  stain  of  her  lips,  was  the  one  bit  of  brilliant 
colour  in  the  mirky  room.  Suddenly  she  became  to  him 
the  incarnation  of  his  temptation. 

The  dual  nature  of  the  man  asserted  itself.  By  a 
mighty  effort  of  the  will,  he  resolved  to  shut  her  out, 
to  get  back  again  to  his  customary  attitude  of  calcula- 
tion. He  concentrated  and  withdrew  his  mind  from  his 
surroundings.  The  result  was  instantaneous.  He  be- 
came calm.  He  no  longer  heard  the  howling  wind. 
He  did  not  dally  with  the  knowledge  of  their  isola- 
tion. 

The  other  side  of  him  held  sway.  And  in  the  light 
of  its  cold  insight  he  shuddered  back,  like  a  traveller, 
whom  the  revealing  dawn  discovers  on  the  verge  of  a 
precipice. 

For  the  moment  his  passion  abated.  He  saw  not  only 
the  madness  of  his  recent  mood,  but  the  futility  of  the 
plan  of  the  afternoon  which  had  led  to  Philida's  kid- 
napping. The  excuses  and  the  explanations  which  during 


258  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

his  ride  had  seemed  to  him  so  satisfying  and  so  impec- 
cable, now  appeared  transparent,  flimsy  as  gauze.  In 
the  revulsion  of  his  feelings,  an  impulse  to  retreat  seized 
him.  So  far  he  was  committed  to  nothing. 

Then  his  love  arose.  Could  he  leave  Philida  to  the 
mercies  of  Lady  Caroline?  He  now  read  her  truly, — 
her  resources  and  her  ruthlessness, — and  he  did  not  know 
how  far  she  might  push  her  animosity.  As  his  love  for 
Philida  gained  the  upper  hand,  and  the  clamouring 
temptation  died  away,  his  instinct  of  hypocrisy  returned. 
He  determined  to  conceal  his  real  intentions. 

When  he  spoke,  Lady  Caroline  thought  she  had  con- 
quered, and  she  rose  with  a  gay  little  clap  of  her  hands. 
It  might  have  been  a  girlish  prank,  and  not  a  crime  she 
contemplated  as  she  ran  towards  the  fireplace. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Mansur!  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  low  bow. 
"What  a  pretty  story  we  shall  make  of  it!  I'll  go 
straight  and  fetch  her,  and  mark  you,  sir,  don't  be  fool 
enough  to  heed  a  few  tears.  At  heart  all  women  are 
Sabines." 

She  snatched  the  lantern  from  its  hook  in  the  hall, 
and  he  heard  her  footsteps  upon  the  stone  stairs. 

As  the  sound  ceased  and  he  was  left  alone  with  the 
howling  wind  and  the  dry  cough  behind  the  panels,  he 
almost  repented  his  decision.  There  were  two  men 
within  him;  one  was  coldly  calculating  and  patient;  the 
other,  headlong  and  passion-ridden.  He  had  usually  con- 
trived to  keep  these  contradictory  personalities  distinct, 
giving  the  rein  to  the  one  or  to  the  other.  Now  they 
were  at  war  within  him  and  the  kingdom  of  his  heart 
and  of  his  mind  divided  him. 

To  tranquillise  himself,  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  room.  A  distant  sound  reached  him.  He  paused, 
.holding  his  breath  to  listen.  Lady  Caroline  was  return- 
ing, but  he  heard  no  second  footfall. 


As  she  entered  the  room,  he  approached  her  and  took 
her  wrist  in  a  cruel,  unregardful  grasp. 

"  Where  is  Lady  Philida  ?  "  he  questioned. 

She  struck  his  hand  off  sharply.  Then  she  put  the 
lantern  upon  the  table  and  threw  herself  into  a  chair. 
Here  she  rocked  from  side  to  side,  laughing  and  kicking 
her  heels  in  an  ecstasy.  He  thought  her  hysterical  and 
reached  for  the  jug  of  water.  She  waved  him  away. 

"  Lud,  man,  don't  be  a  fool.  My  mirth  is  real,  real. 
Fate,  dear  jade,  I,  kiss  your  hand.  My  prettiest  wit 
could  not  have  contrived  so  neat  a  trap." 

"  Where  is  the  Lady  Philida?  "  he  shouted. 

He  felt  a  brutal  impulse  to  beat  the  truth  out  of  her. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  dropped  him  a  deep  curt- 
sey. 

"  An'  please  you,  sir,"  she  minced,  "  I  must  entreat 
a  thousand  pardons.  Methinks  for  the  present  you  must 
forego  your  embraces.  The  Lady  Philida  hath  fled." 

"  Fled  ?  "  he  echoed,  uncomprehendingly,  staring  at 
her. 

"  La!  "  she  said,  "  how  you  echo  me!  What  you  will, 
— vanished — gone,  by  a  secret  passage  I'd  clean  forgot. 
If  she's  not  frightened  to  death,  or  eaten  by  rats,  she 
will  by  now  have  arrived  at  the  prettiest  den  of  iniquity 
I  have  knowledge  of;  an  inn,  fairly  littered  with  tat- 
tered rascals.  I'll  warrant  your  Lady  Philida  will  be 
weary  of  her  escapade." 

She  threw  herself  back  with  renewed  laughter. 

During  the  instant  that  he  watched  her  his  eyes 
flamed.  He  sprang  towards  her,  taking  her  soft  shoulder 
in  a  grip  that  dug  to  the  bone. 

"Where  is  this  room?"  he  asked  hoarsely.  "Take 
me  to  it." 

She  squirmed  away  from  him.  She  felt  no  fear, 
though  his  face  was  convulsed. 


260  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Not  I,  you  brute,  you  hurt  me." 

For  a  moment  he  glared  down  at  her,  helpless.  Her 
face  was  wicked  in  its  mirth,  as  she  looked  back  at 
him. 

He  took  the  lantern  that  she  had  set  down  on  the 
table  and  hurried  blindly  from  the  room.  He  went  up 
the  stairs  to  face  long,  baffling  passages.  Down  these 
he  rushed,  peering  into  empty  rooms,  pounding  at  closed 
doors,  tearing  up  staircases  that  but  ended  in  a  cul  de  sac, 
maddened  by  an  unselfish  fear  for  the  woman  he  loved. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   ROOM   IN  THE   TOWER 

.    .    .    Who  could  refrain 
That  had  a  heart  to  love? 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

THE  hall  which  Lady  Philida  and  the  woman  entered 
was  narrow  and  stone-paved.  Its  darkness  was  re- 
lieved only  by  a  lantern  with  pierced  holes  that  spread 
radiating  gleams  against  one  wall,  and  the  flambeau  that 
her  guide  carried.  At  the  back,  the  hall  turned  off  at 
an  angle  and  up  this  led  a  flight  of  stone  stairs.  Her 
silent  companion,  still  carrying  her  flambeau  which  left 
behind  it  trails  of  black  smoke  and  tarry  odour,  ushered 
her  to  the  landing  above.  Here  was  revealed  a  second 
flight  of  stairs.  Philida  followed  her  guide  without  pro- 
test or  question.  The  silent  woman's  society  was  a  re- 
lief to  her  after  her  recent  companionship.  As  she  went, 
she  calculated  the  height  to  which  they  were  rising,  sub- 
consciously. There  was  fighting  blood  in  her  veins,  and 
though  for  the  time  her  head  swam  uselessly,  the  deter- 
mination to  escape  if  possible  underlay  her  thoughts. 

At  length  they  reached  the  threshold  of  an  open  door 
before  which  her  guide  paused  as  a  hint  for  her  to  enter. 
She  did  so  and  the  woman  followed,  locking  the  door 
behind  her. 

The  click  of  the  lock  as  it  turned  revealing  to  Philida 
that  she  was  a  prisoner,  let  in  upon  her  a  tempest  of 
panic  and  of  protest. 

"How  dare  you?"  she  cried.  "Would  you  treat 
me  as  prisoner  ?  " 

261 


A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  My  orders,  your  ladyship,"  returned  the  other  im- 
perturbably. 

Going  over  to  the  hearth,  she  proceeded  to  stir  up  the 
smouldering  fire  which  was  creeping  and  snapping  un- 
easily among  green  boughs. 

Philida  battled  back  her  sobs,  and  stood  looking  about 
her,  seeking  for  an  exit.  She  found  herself  in  a  large 
apartment  hung  with  tapestries  which  were  still  beauti- 
ful, though  frayed  in  places.  They  represented  a  hunting 
scene.  A  Flemish  chest,  rich  in  carving,  but  worm- 
eaten,  stood  against  one  wall.  Beside  the  high  stone 
fireplace  were  two  great  chairs,  one  upholstered  in 
bronzed  leather,  but  all  its  glory  faded.  Upon  the  hearth 
lay  a  fur  rug  worn  bare  in  spots.  There  was  an  Eliza- 
bethan carved  bedstead,  piled  with  stuffy-looking  bed- 
clothes almost  to  its  heavy,  wooden  canopy.  This  com- 
pleted the  furnishing  of  the  neglected  room.  The  door 
by  which  they  had  entered  was  cut  wantonly  into  the 
fine  old  tapestry.  There  was  but  one  window  set  high 
in  the  wall. 

To  this  Philida  ran,  and,  standing  upon  tiptoe,  con- 
trived to  open  it.  The  damp  blackness  and  a  sense  of 
the  depth  below  sent  her  back  from  it  with  a  little  cry 
of  disappointment  and  dismay.  She  turned,  to  discover 
her  gaoler  regarding  her  with  an  air  of  impersonal  curi- 
osity. 

The  woman  had  a  mass  of  rebellious  grey  hair,  a 
mouth  curiously  set,  not  hard,  not  firm,  and  hazel  eyes 
beneath  thick  eyebrows.  There  was  about  her  the  ap- 
pearance of  one  doing  her  duty,  without  enthusiasm, 
but  with  no  hint  of  relenting. 

"  Oh,"  burst  out  Philida,  "  you  are  not  going  to  help 
her  to  do  this  thing?" 

The  woman  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  must  obey  her  ladyship,"  she  answered  immovably. 


THE    ROOM   IN   THE   TOWER       263 

Philida  was  suffering  from  the  shocks  of  the  day  and 
deadly  weary.  This  reply  crushed  her.  She  flung  her- 
self face  downwards  upon  the  hearth-rug  and  sobbed. 
For  many  moments  she  lay  there,  a  slender  figure,  her 
arms  flung  above  her  head  in  an  attitude  of  abandon; 
her  white-flowered  dress  crushed  and  disarranged  as  the 
firelight  danced  over  her. 

When  again  she  looked  up  she  found,  to  her  sur- 
prise, that  her  companion  had  dragged  the  chest  within 
the  radius  of  the  heat  from  the  fire,  and  that  her  supper 
was  spread  upon  it. 

"  Best  eat,  your  ladyship,"  she  remarked  practically. 

Lady  Philida  leaned  against  one  of  the  chairs,  and 
shook  her  head. 

"  It  won't  do  you  any  good  to  lose  your  strength  nor 
your  beauty,"  suggested  the  other. 

The  girl  regarded  her  with  arrested  attention.  Her 
guide's  matter-of-fact  way  of  putting  things  calmed  her. 
Yes,  she  would  need  strength.  With  an  effort  at  self- 
command  she  approached  the  chest.  The  viands  were 
of  the  plainest.  A  joint  of  cold  meat,  and  a  loaf  of 
coarse  bread  flanked  by  a  flagon  of  wine  completed  the 
repast.  With  a  deliberate  effort  Philida  began  her  sup- 
per. She  had  not  broken  her  fast  since  the  morning. 
She  found,  to  her  surprise,  that  she  was  eating  with  a 
fair  degree  of  appetite.  Helped  by  the  meal,  the  sharp, 
heady  wine,  and  the  glow  of  the  fire  of  which  she  was 
beginning  to  be  gratefully  sensible,  her  mind  began  to  act. 

So  far  at  least  she  seemed  safe.  Her  grim  guardian 
had  settled  herself  to  turn  the  heel  of  a  grey  yarn  stock- 
ing, as  deliberately  as  if  no  tearful  eyes  watched  her 
wistfully  from  the  other  side  of  the  hearth. 

For  some  moments  Philida  regarded  her,  drooping 
where  she  sat. 

The  wind  had   risen.     It  whirled   about  the  tower 


264*  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

room,  snatched  at  the  casements  and  shook  them  vio- 
lently. The  candles  were  caught  by  the  draughts  which 
sent  their  flames  veering;  the  shadows  in  the  corners  of 
the  dark  room  moved  uneasily;  the  great  blot  of  the  bed's 
canopy  went  quivering  over  the  ceiling;  there  was  a 
fluttering  of  swallows  in  the  chimney.  The  little  crea- 
tures were  disturbed  by  the  smoke,  and  their  wings  dis- 
lodged an  occasional  chip  of  mortar  or  wreath  of  soot. 
From  the  wainscot  came  the  squeak  and  scuttle  of  mice. 
The  whole  room  was  pervaded  by  the  spirit  of  loneli- 
ness and  fear. 

Philida  was  seized  with  a  hunger  for  the  touch  of 
something  warm  and  human.  She  crept  over  and 
crouched  against  her  guardian's  knees.  The  woman  felt 
the  soft  huddle  of  her  form.  The  action  was  full  of 
appeal.  She  counted  off  her  stitches  carefully.  There 
was  an  unfamiliar  tug  at  her  heart,  as  she  felt  the 
trustful  pressure  of  her  charge's  shoulders. 

As  the  wind  rose  to  a  louder  shriek,  Philida  gasped, 
and  threw  her  arms  about  her  companion. 

"Don't  leave  me?"  she  besought,  her  eyes  strained 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  moving  shadows. 

"  Not  unless  my  lady  orders." 

"Always  my  lady's  orders!"  cried  Philida.  "Have 
you  then  no  heart  ?  Do  you  lend  yourself  to  this  wicked- 
ness? " 

The  woman  moved  in  her  seat  and  set  her  lips  ob- 
stinately. 

"  I  know  nought  of  that,"  she  said.  "  That's  my 
lady's  affair." 

"  A  pretty  affair !  "  exclaimed  Philida,  in  a  burst  of 
indignation.  "  And  I'll  see  to  it  she  suffers  for  it." 

The  other  continued  the  exasperating  click  of  her 
needles,  but  there  was  the  ghost  of  a  grim  smile  now 
upon  her  face. 


THE    ROOM    IN    THE    TOWER        265 

"  I'm  thinking  she'll  see  .to  it  that  you  suffer  first, 
your  ladyship.  My  mistress  is  not  one  to  enter  upon 
a  road  unless  she  herself  knows  the  turnings  better  than 
another." 

Upon  this  reply  Philida  lapsed  into  discouraged  si- 
lence. Her  fears  grew  upon  her.  To  keep  them  in 
abeyance,  she  began  to  question  her  companion. 

"  If  we  are  to  be  here  all  night,  mayhap,  it  was  best 
if  I  had  a  name  for  you." 

"  You  may  call  me  Martha,"  said  the  woman. 

"Martha,"  said  Philida,  "I  like  it  well.  Prithee, 
Martha,  shorten  the  hour  with  some  story." 

"  I  know  no  stories,  your  ladyship,"  the  other  returned 
gruffly. 

"  Or  even  a  little  gossip,  Martha.  Anything.  This 
wind  affrights  me." 

"  I  know  no  gossip." 

"  Prithee,  then,  Martha,  tell  me  your  own  history." 

"  My  history,  your  ladyship !  what  history  have  such 
as  I  save  toil,  toil,  toil." 

Philida  placed  a  cheek  against  her  companion's  knee,  her 
back  turned  to  the  terrifying  shadows  of  the  room. 

"  Everybody  has  some  history,  Martha.  Are  you 
married?  " 

An  angry  exclamation  answered  her. 

"Not  I,  thank  God!" 

"  Did  he  die?  "  asked  Philida,  softly. 

This  questioning  threaded  her  thoughts  away  from 
the  terrors  that  threatened  to  overwhelm  her. 

The  knitting  fell  from  Martha's  lap.  She  answered 
brusquely : 

"  When  a  woman  is  not  married  at  forty-five,  all  the 
world  knows  no  man  has  come  a-courting  her." 

"  I  know  better,  Martha,"  Philida  answered.  "  You 
have  but  to  smooth  away  that  frown  and  you'd  be 


266  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

comely  now.  But  it  did  not  frighten  me.  I  knew  that 
it  did  not  pass  below  into  your  mind." 

"  It  has  been  there  many  years  and  'tis  like  to  stay 
there,"  replied  Martha. 

"  Alas,  alas !  "  cried  the  girl,  "  then  somebody  has 
spoiled  your  life  as  that  wicked  woman  now  seeks  to 
spoil  mine." 

When  she  had  spoken,  despite  her  resolve,  she  sobbed 
brokenly. 

"  Why  does  she  seek  to  cross  my  love  ?  "  she  queried 
at  length.  "  She  has  her  husband." 

Martha  laughed  gruffly. 

"  You  baby!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  She  flouts  him  behind 
his  back  and  cajoles  him  to  his  face.  Her  husband, 


marry 


"  And  yet  you  would  help  her,"  cried  Philida.  "  I 
wonder  at  you." 

A  transient  expression  of  shame  appeared  in  Mar- 
tha's face. 

"  I  must  live,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  I've  a  bedridden 
father,  and  work  as  I  may  I  can't  pay  the  rent.  My 
lady  suffers  us." 

She  lapsed  into  sulky  silence  and  resumed  her  knit- 
ting. 

A  suggestion  came  into  Philida's  mind,  and  with  it  a 
gleam  of  wild  hope.  She  turned  towards  her  companion, 
her  face  alight. 

"You  need  not  stay  here,  Martha,  to  toil  and  sin  for 
this  woman.  I  am  rich,  rich!  I  never  was  glad  of  it 
before.  I  have  a  fortune.  I  would  give  you  a  farm  rent- 
free  for  all  your  life,  and  your  father  need  want  for 
nothing,  if  you  but  set  me  free." 

"  These  be  but  promises,"  said  the  woman  sulkily. 

"  In  your  heart  you  know  you  trust  me,"  answered  the 
girl  with  disarming  gentleness. 


"  Mayhap  I  do,"  answered  Martha,  avoiding  her  gaze ; 
"  but  it  would  not  be  the  old  farm." 

"  My  life  and  happiness  against  the  old  farm !  "  ex- 
claimed the  girl,  clasping  her  hands  despairingly. 

"  I'll  stay,"   said   Martha  sullenly. 

Philida  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Are  you  human,"  she  exclaimed  passionately,  "  or 
only  a  machine  that  moves  at  another's  bidding  ?  Would 
you  see  my  life  ruined  and  help  yourself  to  wreck  it? 
Yet  you  loved  once  and  know  somewhat  of  what  you 
are  doing." 

Martha's  high,  harsh  voice  arrested  her.  She  had 
risen  to  her  feet,  and  her  eyes  were  burning  beneath 
her  heavy  eyebrows. 

"  Speak  not  of  him,"  she  cried,  her  hand  beating  the 
air,  "  a  wastrel  wanderer,  a  stone  that  gathered  no  moss ; 
a  good-for-nought."  , 

Philida  was  frightened  by  her  fury. 

"  Yet  surely  you  saw  good  in  him,"  she  said,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"  No !  no !  "  cried  Martha.  "  I  saw  no  good  in  him ; 
I  knew  that  he  would  beat  me;  I  knew  that  he  lied  to 
me  then;  I  knew  he  would  not  be  true  to  me.  It  was 
only  that  he  was  not  to  me  as  other  men  were.  I  was 
a  woman  and  a  fool." 

She  wrung  her  work-hardened  hands,  wrapped  in  the 
tragedy  of  her  blighted  youth.  Suddenly  she  turned  to 
Philida,  her  large  eyes  heavy  with  antagonism. 

"  Why  did  you  make  me  speak? "  she  questioned. 
"  You  are  a  witch,  and  I  am  afraid  of  you." 

But  Philida  threw  her  arms  about  her  neck  and  buried 
her  face  in  her  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  Martha,  Martha,"  she  cried.  "  We  are  just 
two  poor  women  together,  you  and  I." 


CHAPTER   XXX 

AN   UNDERGROUND    FLIGHT 

'Twas  a  rough  night. 
My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A  fellow  to  it. 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

PHILIDA  raised  her  head  and  looked  suddenly  at  her  com- 
panion, her  face  wild  in  its  appeal.  From  somewhere  in 
the  distance,  the  strokes  of  a  town  clock  floated  to  them. 
Its  brazen  tongue  tolled  ten.  Hitherto  the  girl  had 
been  sustained  by  a  hope  of  rescue.  Now  the  hours  had 
sped  and  no  help  had  come. 

"What  can  she  do  to  me?"  she  questioned,  fran- 
tically. 

Martha's  face  fell. 

"  God  knows,  my  pretty,"  she  reluctantly  said. 

Philida  was  frightened  by  something  in  her  manner. 
She  took  her  shoulders  in  a  wild  clasp. 

"  She  can't  keep  me  from  him  ?  " 

Martha  turned  away  her  eyes. 

"  I  know  she  has  summoned  her  chaplain.  She  would 
not  need  him  herself.  Marry  you,  perhaps." 

Philida  did  not  move.  Martha  looked  up  in  surprise. 
She  found  the  girl  standing,  white  as  marble,  frozen 
into  an  apathy  of  horror,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  star- 
ing. These  words  would  have  carried  no  conviction 
save  for  her  experience  in  Fleet  Street. 

"  Marry  me,  marry  me !  "  Her  lips  formed  the 
words,  but  no  sound  came.  The  next  instant  a  wave  of 
fierce  pride  broke  over  her. 

"  She  dare  not!  I  am  the  Earl  of  Chedley's  daughter." 
968 


AN    UNDERGROUND    FLIGHT        £69 

Martha  looked  at  her  with  an  almost  whimsical  smile. 
'  'Tis  little  that  will  serve  you  once  you're  married," 
she  said  shrewdly. 

Philida's  spirit  broke. 

She  clung  to  Martha's  knees,  entreating  her,  palpi- 
tating with  fear,  sobbing  out  incoherent  promises  of 
what  she  would  do  if  she  would  but  give  her  her 
liberty. 

"  Let  me  think,"  said  the  woman  abruptly. 

The  girl  checked  her  weeping  and  even  withdrew  her 
clasping  hands  to  watch  her.  Martha  frowned  as  she 
reflected.  Hers'  was  a  secretive  nature.  Philida  had 
moved  her,  but  she  was  weighing  the  chances  before  she 
acted. 

At  length  she  bent  over  her,  half  fearful  of  her  own 
resolution. 

"  Your  ladyship,"  she  whispered,  "  perhaps  there  is  a 
way.  Don't  be  too  certain,  for  it  is  full  of  dangers  and 
you  may  lack  the  courage." 

There  was  no  lack  of  courage  or  resolution  in  Phi- 
lida's face  as  she  looked  back  at  her. 

Martha  answered  the  look. 

"  Then,  first,  your  promise,"  she  went  on.  "  The 
farm  rent-free  for  all  my  life,  and  the  means,  as  soon  as 
you  can  get  it  to  us,  to  haste  away  from  here." 

"  I  promise,  I  promise,"  cried  Philida.  "  But  the 
way?  " 

Martha's  eyes  were  sparkling  beneath  her  black  brows. 
She  was  unchaining  her  long-suppressed  personality;  tak- 
ing measures  against  the  mistress,  faithfully  served,  but 
secretly  disliked.  The  whole  woman  was  vibrant,  as 
she  continued,  still  whispering. 

"  There  is  a  secret  passage  from  this  room,  behind 
those  nailed-down  tapestries.  It  goes  down  between  the 
walls.  I've  known  it  from  a  child,  though  my  lady  is 


270  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

ignorant  that  I  have  knowledge  of  it.  From  there  it 
passes  three-quarters  of  a  mile,  as  the  crow  flies,  to  an 
inn  below." 

She  paused. 

"  I  would  I  could  go  with  you,  my  lady,"  she  said 
with  a  touch  of  her  old  surliness,  "  but  I  must  not  leave 
my  father  to  meet  her  ladyship's  wrath  alone." 

Philida's  heart  failed  her. 

"  Must  I  go  by  myself?  "  she  gasped. 

Martha,  conscious  of  her  selfishness,  felt  a  stir  of 
anger. 

"  You  have  the  choice  of  staying,"  she  answered. 

"  Nay,"  said  Philida,  her  voice  quivering,  "  I  will  go." 

Her  imagination  had  already  foreseen  the  terrors  of 
the  journey,  but  they  were  as  nothing  to  her  present 
plight. 

At  the  sight  of  her  wide,  affrighted  eyes,  Martha  felt 
a  prick  of  conscience. 

"  The  inn  has  an  ill  name.  Could  you  but  linger  in 
the  passage  till  the  morning,  then  I  could  go  to  you." 

Involuntarily,  Philida  shuddered. 

"  I  have  no  watch  to  tell  the  hours." 

Some  unexplained,  distant  sound  within  the  house 
caught  her  ear. 

"  Let  us  wait  no  longer,"  she  cried.  "  Show  me  the 
entrance." 

Martha  hastened  to  the  corner  of  the  room.  She 
inserted  her  fingers  beneath  the  edge  of  the  tapestry. 
The  rotting  material  gave  way  easily.  Pushing  it  back, 
a  panel  behind  it  was  revealed  covered  with  cloth,  dust 
and  cobwebs.  For  a  moment  Martha's  fingers  felt  about 
vainly  for  the  spring.  Again  the  sound  in  the  house 
below!  Philida  almost  screamed  as  she  watched  the 
fruitless  groping.  Another  instant  and  the  door  swung 
back  with  a  creak. 


AN    UNDERGROUND    FLIGHT        £71 

A  breath  of  dampness  floated  out  and  the  sound  of  the 
scurry  of  rats. 

Philida  ran  to  the  opening.  She  felt  all  a  woman's 
shrinking  horror  of  the  rats,  all  a  child's  of  the  dark- 
ness, but  her  eyes  were  sparkling  with  excitement.  She 
was  possessed  by  a  frenzy  of  fear  lest  an  instant's  lin- 
gering might  trap  her.  Yet  on  the  threshold  she  stopped, 
gasping. 

"  I  must  gather  courage,"  she  whispered. 

Martha's  heart  almost  prompted  her  to  follow  her. 
Only  for  an  instant.  She -was  eager  now  to  get  away 
herself  by  means  not  open  to  Philida. 

The  girl  paused,  one  foot  upon  the  shadowy  staircase 
within. 

"  Leave  the  panel  open  for  a  moment.  I  must  get 
accustomed  to  the  dark,"  she  entreated. 

"  My  pretty  one,"  cried  Martha.  "  'Tis  not  so  bad 
as  that." 

She  left  the  room  and  Philida  heard  her  exchange  a 
few  words  with  the  man  who  watched  at  the  door. 

When  she  returned  she  carried  a  lantern. 

"  Heaven  guard  your  ladyship,"  she  said  huskily. 

Philida  took  the  lantern  and  vanished.  Martha 
peered  after  her.  She  caught  sight  of  a  stone  staircase 
that  turned  abruptly  and  was  lost  in  darkness;  and  the 
air  was  dank. 

Lantern  in  hand,  Philida  picked  her  way  down  the 
uneven  steps.  The  space  in  which  she  was  travelling 
was  scarcely  two  feet  wide;  the  way  was  irregular. 
When  the  passage  gave  a  sharp  turn,  she  discovered  that 
her  course  lay  between  the  outer  stone  wall  of  the  house 
and  what  she  took  to  be  the  panelling  of  a  room.  In 
the  darkness  which  gloomed  ahead  of  her  and  with  no 
way  of  gauging  the  distance  she  travelled,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  had  been  going  on  for  hours  next  to  the 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

walls  of  the  old  house.  As  she  crept  along,  the  rats 
scuttling  before  her,  she  suddenly  became  conscious  of 
the  sound  of  voices.  One  she  recognised  with  a  creep 
of  aversion.  She  had  first  become  accustomed  to  its 
intonations  in  darkness,  and  it  may  be  for  that  reason 
she  recognised  it  more  readily  under  the  same  circum- 
stances. The  other  voice  was  a  man's.  As  she  heard  it 
she  gasped,  pressed  close  against  the  wooden  wall  and 
listened.  Its  tone  struck  a  note  of  memory.  The  sus- 
picion seized  her  that  it  was  Mr.  Mansur's.  Before  she 
could  confirm  or  dismiss  the  thought  she  heard  the  sound 
of  a  chair  hastily  pushed  back  over  the  flags  in  the 
room  below,  and  the  ring  of  a  spurred  heel.  This  added 
to  her  fear  of  pursuit  and  she  went  on  with  almost  in- 
cautious haste.  She  descended  a  dozen  more  steps,  when 
a  gleam  in  the  wood  hinted  to  her  that  she  had  reached 
a  lighted  room.  She  paused  here  and  leaned  her  head 
against  the  crack.  The  faint  radiance  gave  her  a  mo- 
mentary comfort  in  the  darkness.  A  short,  dry  cough 
reached  her  ears,  and  she  started,  trembling.  All  too 
probably  here  too  lurked  an  enemy.  Better  the  rats 
and  the  darkness. 

A  few  feet  farther  on  the  way  twisted  downward  pre- 
cipitously and  she  had  to  cling  to  the  side  as  she  went. 
She  realised  that  she  had  now  left  the  house,  and  was 
travelling  along  a  rough  passage  underground.  The  air 
grew  damper  and  closer,  but,  to  her  unspeakable  relief, 
the  rats  with  their  gleaming,  red  eyes  ceased  to  scamper 
past  her.  The  walls  of  the  passage  were  rocky  and  ir- 
regular, and  blotched  with  great  patches  of  mildew; 
sometimes  fungus  hung  down  almost  forming  a  curtain 
across  the  way.  The  air  became  closer  and  still  closer. 
Her  breath  began  to  labour  and  her  head  to  swim.  A 
fear  arose  in  her  mind.  What  if  she  should  smother  in 
this  horrid  place,  lie  there  and  rot,  her  presence  unsus- 


AN    UNDERGROUND    FLIGHT        273 

pected  by  those  in  the  sunshine  above?  Upon  the  heels 
of  this  terror  trod  another.  This  passage  in  itself  told 
the  story  of  secrecy  and  conspiracy!  Suppose  she  were 
to  come  upon  the  bones  of  some  murdered  man  or  woman 
picked  clean  by  rats.  She  felt  her  hair  lift  upon  her 
head.  Then  she  thought  of  Lord  Yerington,  and  it 
steadied  her.  She  was  determined  not  to  let  her  imagina- 
tion wander,  but  to  keep  it  fixed  as  far  as  possible  by 
hopeful  reflections. 

As  she  went,  the  gleam  from  her  lantern  shone  upon 
the  slime  of  the  walls,  or  revealed  where  a  sluggish 
trickle  crept  down  them  and  turned  along  the  passage, 
converting  it  to  mud. 

The  flame  of  her  lantern,  which  had  begun  to  burn 
blue  in  the  impure  air,  leapt  up  again  and  a  sense  of  re- 
freshment came  to  her  labouring  lungs.  She  discerned 
before  her  a  glow  of  moonlight  upon  the  wall  of  the 
passage.  A  moment  later  she  pushed  her  face  into  a  re- 
freshing tangle  of  green  leaves.  Between  them,  with  a 
sense  of  unutterable  relief  and  delight,  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  cloud-sown  sky,  and  the  silver  shield  of  a 
full  moon. 

She  dared  not  linger  and  was  soon  on  her  way  again. 
Occasionally  she  came  upon  these  openings  which  gave 
directly  upon  the  night,  but  which  were  hidden  by  the 
undergrowth.  They  kept  some  slight  circulation  moving 
in  the  otherwise  stagnant  air. 

With  a  gasp  of  dismay  she  perceived  that  the  rats  were 
again  beginning  to  appear.  She  could  see  the  twin,  red 
gleam  of  their  eyes;  but  this  also  told  her  she  was  near- 
ing  habitation,  and  a  tortuous  winding  staircase  soon 
confirmed  this  supposition. 

As  she  approached  it,  pushing  her  way  slowly  and  with 
difficulty  between  the  narrow  walls,  Martha's  words 
recurred  to  her  with  their  full  significance. 


274  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  The  inn  has  an  ill  name." 

She  had  reached  the  end  of  her  journey. 

A  panel   stopped  her  course.      She  leaned   against  it, 

panting.     Beyond  it  she  heard  the  babel  of  men's  voices. 

At  first   the  sense  of   human   companionship  comforted 

her.     Then  a  new    sharp    fear  arose  that  blanched  her 

already  white  cheeks. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 


Here  in  the  tavern  haunt  I  make  my  lair. 

— OMAR  KHAYYAM. 

PHILIDA  stood  in  the  dark  with  her  cheek  pressed  against 
the  panel,  distraught  with  terror.  From  the  room  within 
came  snatches  of  drunken  song,  ribald  laughter  and  the 
clatter  of  tankards  pounded  upon  the  table.  The  coarse 
comment  and  oaths  told  her  all  too  clearly  what  lay  be- 
fore her,  and  behind  her  stretched  darkness,  terror-steeped 
and  rat-haunted. 

Amidst  the  din  within  one  voice  became  distinct.  It 
had  a  dominating  quality,  a  confident  roll  and  the  re- 
sourcefulness of  epithet  that  revealed  the  bravo  and  the 
bully.  The  man  was  finishing  a  story  whose  purport 
escaped  Philida  in  her  confusion  of  mind.  But  it  met 
with  an  outburst  of  wild  applause. 

"  Well  done,  Will,"  exclaimed  a  voice,  "  as  good  a 
turn  as  ever  I  heard  on.  But  she  escaped  thee  in  the 
end?" 

"  Ay;  but  he  was  welcome  to  her,  for  he  gave  the  best 
sport  my  sword  hath  tasted  since  I  handed  Ken  Gordon 
his  passports.  A  pox,  I  say,  on  all  white-livered  poltroons 
who  would  exchange  a  lass  for  a  swinging  fight!  I  was 
well  paid,  I  tell  thee !  " 

The  voice  struck  across  Philida's  consciousness  with  a 
sense  of  familiarity,  but  save  for  the  added  fear  it  raised 
in  her,  it  did  not  definitely  place  itself. 

Another  voice,  high-pitched  and  mincing,  answered 
Will,  the  self-confident  and  brawl-lover. 

"  Egad,  Will,"  it  said ;  "  I  thought  you  capable  of  a 
275 


276  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

more  fertile  invention.  'Od's  life,  I  did.  Now,  if  you 
had  such  a  prank  to  tell  of  as  I  could  boast!  It  hap- 
pened but  a  month  since." 

Here  followed  a  circumstantial  account  of  Mr.  Man- 
sur's  farce  of  a  rescue,  and  he  related  his  mock  trial  be- 
fore Lord  Yerington  with  a  pith  and  wit  that  convulsed 
his  audience.  No  names  were  given — Yerington  ap- 
peared as  "  my  lord,"  Elliot  as  a  "  put  of  a  gawky  Scot." 

For  the  second  time  that  night,  Philida,  during  her 
flight  between  Lone  Elm  Manor  and  this  inn,  had  come 
close  to  stumbling  upon  the  truth  about  Mr.  Mansur, 
and  gaining  the  key  to  his  plotting. 

In  the  breathless  passage  she  crouched  and  listened. 

Will  spoke. 

"  'Fore  George,"  he  said,  "  never  blame  another  man's 
invention  until  you  can  play  your  own  hand.  Thunders 
of  Jove,  man,  had  I  not  taken  you  into  my  favour,  you'd 
still  be  a  skulking  skeleton  only  lacking  a  gibbet  and  a 
chain  to  make  you  crow's  food." 

This  time  Philida  recognised  the  voice.  It  was  that 
of  the  chief  rogue  in  her  Fleet  Street  experience.  The 
shock  was  too  much.  She  gave  a  smothered  cry,  reeled 
and  stumbled  against  the  panel. 

The  sound  of  her  fall  reached  the  ears  of  those  within 
the  room. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Will,  his  eyes  narrowed  to 
instant  attention.  His  hand  went  to  his  sword;  he  was 
upon  the  defensive;  his  face  eager  and  alert.  His  life 
was  a  long  fence  with  chance.  His  instinct  was  to  fight. 

The  man  who  sat  opposite  him,  but  recently  promoted 
to  the  prosperity  of  bag-wig,  a  frogged  riding-coat  and 
jack-boots,  exchanged  a  quick,  sly  look  with  him.  The 
Scarecrow  of  Temple  Bar  had  somewhat  mended  his  for- 
tunes since  last  we  encountered  him  in  the  woods  of 
Warwickshire.  He  had  heard  the  sound,  but  he  did  not 


LADY  OF  LONE  ELM  MANOR   277 

move.  His  slim  hand  caressed  his  lips,  his  eyes  were 
watchful  and  furtive. 

Not  so  the  rude  fellows  who  sat  with  them,  grown 
ruder  over  their  cups.  They  turned  livid  beneath  their 
wine-dyed  skins. 

"  The  devil !  "  shrieked  one,  rising  to  his  feet,  flinging 
his  chair  upon  its  back  as  he  did  so,  and  staring  at  the 
corner  from  whence  the  sound  had  come.  Instinctively 
he  crossed  himself.  "  'Tis  the  ghost  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Manor!" 

The  second  man  got  to  his  feet,  his  knees  trembling. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  he  responded  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "  I'll 
swear  'tis  she.  'Tis  well  known  there  is  a  passage  thence 
to  the  Manor.  'Twas  there  that  Lord  Cecil  murdered 
her  as  she  would  have  escaped  him.  She  haunts  it, — all 
the  countryside  is  aware  of  that." 

Will  and  Tom  exchanged  glances.  Their  lives  were 
not  as  open  books,  and  they  had  no  appetite  for  secret 
passages  and  hiding-places  unless  they  themselves  occu- 
pied them;  but  it  was  not  ghosts  which  they  feared. 
They  sought  to  brush  the  matter  aside. 

"All  this  for  a  rat  in  the  wainscot?"  said  Will 
lightly.  "  Prithee,  monsieur  le  Rodent,  accept  my  com- 
pliments." He  bowed  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 
"You've  given  these  chicken-hearted  gentlemen  a  turn, 
I'll  warrant  you."  He  took  a  sliding  step  forward  and 
made  mysterious  passes  in  the  air.  "  Come,  monsieur, 
I'll  exorcise  thee." 

He  continued  his  cautious  advance  towards  the  panel- 
ling, his  hand  now  upon  his  lips,  enjoining  silence. 

Tom  saw  his  purpose.  He  took  a  bottle  from  the  table 
and  held  it  by  the  neck.  If  there  were  to  be  unexpected 
developments  and  he  was  to  come  to  an  encounter  with 
unknown  foes  he  preferred  this  weapon,  or  a  pistol  and  ten 
paces,  to  his  sword. 


278  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

For  a  moment  the  two  terror-stricken  men  were  held 
by  the  fear  of  ridicule.  Then  the  thought  of  the  pos- 
sible phantom  overcame  them.  Each  scrambled  to  hide 
behind  his  neighbour.  They  were  the  epitome  of  gro- 
tesque fright. 

With  cautious  ringers  Will  felt  over  the  panelling  for 
a  hidden  spring.  The  teeth  of  one  of  the  men  within 
the  room  suddenly  chattered  audibly  and  struck  a  note 
of  pure  burlesque,  though  to  all  the  actors  in  it  the 
scene  was  serious  enough. 

Philida,  trapped  within,  was  shaken  from  head  to  foot 
by  the  sense  of  horror  and  threat  which  the  sound  of 
the  man's  voice  had  aroused  in  her.  Limp  and  power- 
less she  leaned  against  the  rough  wall  of  her  prison.  Her 
experiences  had  been  coming  so  rapidly  one  upon  the 
other,  that  for  the  moment  she  was  unable  to  think 
or  act.  Then  the  strange  silence  within  the  room  began 
to  penetrate  her  consciousness  and  an  enveloping  flash  of 
new  and  imminent  danger  stung  her  into  life.  In  des- 
perate haste  she  began  feeling  her  way  back  down  the 
narrow  passage.  She  had  not  yet  reached  the  corner 
where  it  turned  at  right  angles  and  led  down  the  rudely 
cut  staircase,  when  a  gleam  of  yellow  light  upon  the  wall 
before  her  told  her  that  the  panel  had  been  slidden  back. 
The  shock  sickened  her.  She  felt  an  impulse  to  hasten 
on  and  throw  herself  madly  down  the  precipitous  steps. 
The  dreaded  course  over  which  she  had  just  come  seemed 
peaceful  as  compared  with  her  fear  *of  what  lay  be- 
hind. 

Suddenly  an  inspiration  shot  through  her.  The  mem- 
ory of  the  word  "  ghost  "  was  echoing  confusedly  in  her 
mind.  Her  native  courage  and  resource  crystallised  into 
instant  resolve.  Her  lantern  she  had  dropped.  Sum- 
moning all  her  determination,  she  faced  about,  standing 
erect  and  rigid,  her  hands  at  her  sides.  In  her  filmy, 


LADY  OF  LONE  ELM  MANOR   279 

white  draperies  she  advanced  slowly  from  the  dark  into 
the  dimness,  and  within  sight  of  the  staring  faces  silhou- 
etted in  the  oblong  of  the  open  panel.  Her  face  was 
colourless;  her  eyes  wide  and  fixed,  as  she  glided  slowly 
forward,  her  nerves  strained  almost  to  the  snapping  point. 
There  was  the  rattle  of  a  down-flung  tankard;  a  howl 
of  superstitious  animal  terror ;  then  the  shuffle  of  haunted 
footsteps  as  the  four  men  fought  their  way  madly  from 
the  room. 

Within  the  passage  Philida  lay  in  a  dead  swoon. 

The  hastily-deserted  room  revealed  panic  and  flight — 
a  chair  lay  upon  its  back,  a  tankard  spread  its  half-con- 
sumed contents  over  the  floor. 

The  door,  which  had  been  so  recently  slammed  in 
alarm,  opened  stealthily.  At  first  there  was  but  a  crack. 
This  was  widened  hastily  as  the  door  gave  a  disconcert- 
ing creak.  Will  crept  into  the  room  and  paused,  his  left 
eye  lowered  almost  to  closing,  his  sunburnt  face  crafty. 
His  eyes  sought  the  open  panel  and  he  laughed  softly  to 
himself;  then  with  cat-like  rapidity  and  silence  he  stole 
towards  it. 

A  faint  sound  arrested  him.  He  jerked  himself  erect 
and  wheeled  about,  to  face  Tom.  As  their  eyes  met  his 
expression  darkened,  for  he  had  intended  to  have  this 
adventure  to  himself.  The  Scarecrow  grinned  at  him 
impudently,  with  a  sly  intelligence  that  warned  him  to 
fair  play.  With  his  usual  adaptability  when  conditions 
pressed  him,  he  decided  to  accept  his  enforced  partner 
with  philosophy.  They  were  accustomed  to  working  in 
unison,  and  when  engaged  in  their  roguery  their  tactics 
demanded  few  words.  Side  by  side,  they  went  stealthily 
towards  the  yawning  space  in  the  wall.  Will  had  a  can- 
dlestick in  his  hand;  and  this  he  held  above  his  head 
and  peered  into  the  dusky  passage.  Even  his  experience 


280  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

was  almost  startled  into  an  exclamation  when  he  came 
unexpectedly  upon  the  fainting  girl. 

He  knelt  to  examine  her  face  and  when  he  turned 
back  towards  the  room,  his  own  was  quivering  with' ex- 
citement. 

"  The  devil  is  in  it,"  he  whispered.  "  As  neat  a  little 
bit  of  good  fortune  as  has  come  to  me  in  many  a  day. 
The  Lady  Philida  again!  She  is  somewhat  different  hab- 
ited than  when  I  saw  her  last,  but  the  same  little  lady, 
I'll  go  bail.  I  had  to  plot  to  capture  the  Duchess  of 
Croome's  niece  last  time.  Now,  gad,  she's  walked 
straight  into  my  net." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  with  satisfaction. 

"  When  did  you  encounter  her  last  ?  "  queried  his  com- 
panion, upon  the  qul  vive  of  curiosity. 

Will  laughed  in  his  throat. 

"  'Tis  the  little  wench  of  Fleet  Street.  Zounds!  Fate 
hath  thrown  doubles.  You'll  pay  for  that  slipping, 
my  pretty,"  and  he  grinned  down  at  the  unconscious 
girl. 

Tom  moved  uneasily. 

"  I  like  not  this  business,"  he  said.  "  There  may  be 
little  profit  in  it  and  a  hanging  at  the  other  end." 

"  Get  you  out  of  it,  then,"  said  Will  brutally.  "  I 
can  manage  it  alone,  if  you're  so  nice  on  the  subject." 

Tom  rubbed  his  hand  across  his  lips. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  the  swag?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  reckon  the  odds  like  a  parson,"  growled  Will. 
"  Half  the  spice  of  such  chances  lies  in  its  uncertainty. 
It  may  mean  much  or  little.  Methinks  it  will  mean 
much,  and  the  devil  take  snivellers,  say  I." 

Tom's  watchful  eyes  noted  him,  as  he  again  stooped 
over  Philida. 

Will  did  not  regard  her  pathetic  beauty — his  pro- 
fessional eye  was  but  intent  upon  the  fineness  ef  her 


LADY  OF  LONE  ELM  MANOR   281 

garments.  The  little  jewelled  brooch  that  fastened  her 
velvet  band  about  her  neck  he  removed  and  thrust  into 
his  pocket.  He  would  also  have  withdrawn  a  simple 
golden  circlet  from  one  of  her  fingers,  but  she  moved 
slightly  and  this  restrained  him.  He  rose,  went  to  the 
table  and  took  a  napkin  which  had  been  carelessly  flung 
there.  With  skilful,  unrelenting  ringers  he  gagged  her 
where  she  lay.  The  movement  recalled  her  to  cruelly 
clear  consciousness.  Her  lids  lifted,  and  she  stared  up 
at  him  with  a  nightmare  of  terror  in  her  eyes.  Then 
they  closed  in  merciful  oblivion. 

Tom  leaned  against  the  table  observing  every  move- 
ment of  his  unscrupulous  pal.  He  had  not  been  blind 
to  the  girl's  beauty,  but  that  alone  would  not  have  stirred 
in  him  the  faint  relentings  that  sent  him  on  with  the  ad- 
venture with  little  appetite.  It  happened  that  his  vil- 
lainy was  adulterated  by  a  tincture  of  right  feeling,  which 
reduced  the  quality  of  the  one  without  raising  within  him 
the  saving  grace  of  the  other.  To  deal  with  the  ab- 
straction he  had  offered  Yerington  in  Fleet  Street  was 
one  thing — this  was  another.  The  girl's  helplessness  ap- 
pealed to  him.  But  the  good  in  him  was  so  weak  and 
spiritless  a  thing  that  it  did  not  develop  into  a  definite 
resistance.  Therefore,  when  Will,  purposeful  and  ready, 
took  Philida's  inert  form  in  his  arms  and  turned  to  Tom 
with  a  question  in  his  eyes,  it  was  the  latter's  subtle 
mind  that  responded  with  a  plan  of  action. 

"  I'll  frighten  all  those  below  with  a  tale  of  a  ghost," 
he  said.  "  Get  you  out  by  the  side  door  that  opens  upon 
the  landing  of  the  staircase  and  I'll  join  you  later.  Then 
go  on  to  the  tithe-barn  that  stands  a  hundred  yards  down 
the  road.  You  know  it  well.  It  has  been  a  friend  to 
us  on  many  a  friendless  nigh£." 

Will's  lowered  eyelid  winked  intelligence. 

Tom,  with  a  howl  of  terror  that  reverberated  through 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

the  house,  and  a  mien  of  wild  disorder,  rushed  from  the 
room.  He  reeled  as  he  went,  his  eyes  staring. 

In  the  hall  below  a  crowd  of  people  was  gathered. 
They  were  listening  open-mouthed  to  the  tales  of  the 
two  men  who  had  been  with  Tom  in  the  room  above 
when  Philida  made  her  appearance.  They  were  deliver- 
ing their  stories  with  many  extemporised  details,  and 
the  flesh  of  their  auditors  crept.  The  hostlers,  unre- 
buked,  had  slipped  in  from  the  stables,  and  were  shuf- 
fling from  spot  to  spot,  choosing  that  where  the  tale 
was  most  lurid.  The  hostess,  a  red-faced  woman,  her 
arms  akimbo,  hands  on  hips,  huffed  angrily,  and  swore 
she'd  sleep  in  any  room  in  the  house  without  turning  the 
colour  of  cheese-curds  at  the  sight  of  a  mouse  in  the 
wainscot.  The  landlord  was  poised  between  horrified  at- 
tention and  diplomatic  scepticism.  One  man,  of  villain- 
ous appearance,  with  a  patch  across  his  eyes,  scoffed 
openly;  but,  for  the  most  part,  the  audience  was  credu- 
lous and  duly  moved. 

When,  therefore,  a  shriek  broke  upon  their  ears,  they 
grasped  each  other  staring  with  fright,  not  venturing  to 
move  until  they  knew  whither  to  direct  their  retreat. 
The  maids  rushed  into  the  hall  from  the  odd  corners  of 
the  old  house  to  which  the  hostess'  rating  had  driven 
them,  trembling  and  screaming.  The  cook  appeared, 
brandishing  a  long-handled  saucepan  as  if  she  meant  to 
lay  the  ghost  with  it  as  Martin  Luther  had  exorcised  the 
devil  with  the  ink-pot. 

Tom  tumbled  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  hall.  Once 
there  he  ricochetted  from  group  to  group,  hurling  the 
people  against  one  another,  too  frightened  for  protest  or 
question. 

"  I've  seen  her!  "  he  shrieked,  "  I've  seen  her!  She  is 
covered  with  blood ;  her  throat  is  cut  from  ear  to  ear ;  she 
is  carrying  her  head  under  her  arm;  she  shook  it  at  me." 


LADY  OF  LONE  ELM  MANOR   283 

A  quaver  of  horror  rose  in  crescendo  as  the  details 
multiplied. 

Tom  ended  by  rushing  around  the  room  like  a  mad 
dog,  howling  as  he  went,  and  in  the  course  of  his  flight 
taking  possession  of  a  pair  of  silver  candle-snuffers,  which 
his  quick  eye  had  noted  lying  upon  a  dresser. 

Out  of  the  front  door  he  sped  like  a  comet,  followed 
by  a  tail  of  terrified  people  as  if  he  were  the  Pied  Piper 
and  his  shriek  had  magic  in  it.  He  decoyed  them  to 
the  shadow  of  a  great  beech  within  the  inn  yard.  There 
he  paused,  the  centre  of  a  crowd,  all  athrob  with  the 
horrors  of  superstitious  fear.  They  formed  like  a  halo 
about  him,  even  the  landlady's  disbelief  shaken,  and  the 
man  with  the  patch  sunk  to  mere  irony. 

Tom  was  enjoying  himself;  he  was  possessed  by  the 
exhilaration  of  invention;  he  held  his  auditors  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand;  they  hung  upon  his  every  word, 
watched  his  every  gesture,  and  the  tale  he  wove  passed 
into  history  and  so  became  a  part  of  the  lore  of  the 
county. 

As  he  stood  there,  himself  moved  by  the  picture  which 
he  drew  with  graphic  detail  and  fine  sense  of  dramatic 
effect,  a  coach  drove  up  to  the  deserted  inn. 

Lord  Yerington  descended  from  it  in  haste. 

Within  the  inn  all  was  alight.  The  fire  was  dancing 
cheerily  upon  the  hearth  and  gleaming  on  polished  pewter 
and  copper  ranged  about  the  dark  walls.  He  paused  in 
surprise  at  finding  the  place  so  tenantless.  Going  to 
where  he  saw  the  bell-rope  dangling,  he  pulled  it  with  a 
will.  He  heard  a  shrill  distant  tinkle,  but  there  was 
no  other  reply.  Puzzled  and  impatient,  he  left  the 
house  and  went  into  the  stable-yard.  The  duchess'  anx- 
ious eyes  followed  him  from  the  coach  window.  Michael 
had  descended  and  was  standing  at  the  heads  of  the 
steaming,  weary  horses. 


284  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Lord  Yerington  found  the  stable-yard  as  deserted  as 
the  house.  As  he  returned  wondering,  Michael  spoke 
to  him. 

"  There  is  a  group  of  people  yonder,  your  lordship, 
beneath  that  tree." 

At  this  instant  the  clouds  swept  from  the  face  of  the 
moon.  By  its  light,  a  dark  blot  within  the  yard  revealed 
itself  to  be  a  gathering  of  men  and  women.  Their 
action  was  so  strange  that,  allied  to  the  burden  of  Yer- 
ington's  continued  fears,  it  sent  him  towards  the  spot 
with  a  quickened  step. 

The  group  was  too  intent  to  heed  him.  They  were 
still  magnetised  by  Tom's  story. 

"  Gad,  my  friends,"  he  heard  a  voice  say  as  he  ap- 
proached, whose  cadence  he  knew,  "  I'm  a  sinful  man, 
but,  I  ask  you,  must  a  sinner  spoil  all  his  to-days  with 
his  yesterdays?  No,  no,  say  I,  conscience  is  a  sad  med- 
dling wench  and  if  you  don't  keep  her  in  her  place,  a 
man  will  have  no  peace — though  I'm  no  worse  than  an- 
other. But,  hang  me,  when  I  saw  that  beautiful  woman 
in  such  a  case  my  teeth  chattered  like  a  Spanish  dancer's 
castanets,  my  flesh  crept  and  my  hair  stood  on  end. 
I  could  remember  every  deed  I'd  ever  done  upon  which 
an  angel  could  not  have  smiled." 

He  wiped  his  forehead  dramatically,  waiting,  with  an 
actor's  instinct,  for  his  words  to  take  due  effect. 

He  had  been  sufficiently  moved  by  his  eloquence  to 
start  violently  when  a  firm  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm. 
He  turned  to  look  into  Lord  Yerington's  face,  stern  and 
white  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Come,"  that  gentleman  demanded,  "  what  is  this 
to-do,  my  man  ?  " 

The  spell  was  broken;  for  the  first  time  the  crowd 
moved.  Tom  looked  at  Lord  Yerington  sheepishly.  Even 
in  the  uncertain  light  he  recognised  him. 


LADY  OF  LONE  ELM  MANOR   285 

"  Ton  my  life,  my  lord,"  he  said  with  his  usual 
jaunty  air,  "  these  yokels  were  clean  spent  for  a  little 
spice;  dying  for  a  want  of  stirring  of  their  stagnant 
fancy.  Egad,  I  pidgeoned  them  a  little.  We  are  men 
of  the  world  and  can  be  frank  with  one  another." 

Yerington  did  not  heed  the  last  piece  of  impudence. 
He  still  kept  his  hand  on  Tom's  arm  and  walked  him  a 
few  paces  apart. 

Something  in  his  story,  and  its  relation  so  near  to 
the  spot  in  which  he  was  searching  for  Lady  Philida, 
linked  it  indissolubly  in  his  mind  with  the  thought  of 
her  and  her  danger. 

Yerington  had  already  driven  to  Wardsleigh  Abbey. 
The  news  he  had  learned  there  was  both  good  and  bad. 
The  butler,  an  honest  man,  who,  unlike  most  of  the 
world,  thought  of  him  more  as  his  master's  than  his  mis- 
tress' friend,  gave  him  information  he  could  not  distrust. 
— That  was  that  Lady  Caroline  had  been  expected  that 
day,  but  that  she  had  not  arrived  and  had  sent  on  no  ex- 
planation. On  hearing  this  he  felt  assured  that  Philida 
had  her  to  thank  for  her  present  plight.  If,  as  appeared 
to  be  the  fact,  Lady  Caroline  herself  had  kidnapped  her, 
he  could  not  conceive  of  permanent  harm  coming  to  the 
girl. 

He  knew  that  Lady  Caroline  was  a  woman  of  violent 
passions  and  he  believed  she  had  acted  upon  an  impulse 
of  unreasonable  jealousy.  But,  he  told  himself,  with  an 
effort  at  self-assurance,  she  would  scarce  commit  Philida 
wholly  to  a  position  which,  if  it  meant  ruin  for  the  girl, 
would  mean  ruin  for  herself  also. 

He  did  not  realise  that  natures  which  have  schooled 
themselves  for  years  to  a  course  of  duplicity,  run  to  mad- 
dest extremes  in  sheer  reaction. 

His  mind  had  reverted  to  Lone  Elm  Manor.  He  re- 
called its  isolated  position  and  its  deserted  neighbourhood 


286  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

and  it  seemed  a  favourable  spot  for  Lady  Caroline's 
purpose. 

Hence  his  drive  thither  in  haste. 

As  he  had  listened  to  Tom's  words,  fantastic  and  ex- 
treme as  they  were,  they  almost  confirmed  in  him  an 
apprehension. 

The  hostess  of  the  inn  turned  and  discovered  the  wait- 
ing coach.  The  thought  of  guests  of  quality  standing 
unattended  at  her  doors,  acted  like  magic  upon  her  nas- 
cent fears.  She  hastened  back,  sending  the  maids  before 
her.  The  hostlers  returned  to  the  stable,  and  the  other 
spectators  either  went  to  their  homes  or  stood  convers- 
ing in  scattered  groups. 

The  clouds  were  beginning  to  float  higher  and  thin- 
ner, the  wind  had  died  down. 

Lord  Yerington  looked  searchingly  into  Tom's  thin 
face,  with  the  sharp  drawn  lines  on  each  side  of  the  wide 
mouth,  and  the  loose  lips  of  a  man  to  whom  a  lie  came 
easily. 

"  The  last  time  I  saw  you,  sirrah,"  he  said,  "  you  were 
engaged  in  an  ugly  farce  to  impose  upon  a  lady.  To-night 
I  find  you  tuning  your  fancy  to  trick  a  group  of  simple 
folk.  What  lies  behind  it?  Speak  honestly,  for  I'll 
know  the  truth  later,  and  then  I  shall  not  spare  you." 

Tom,  his  eyes  keen  by  nature  and  from  a  life  of  con- 
stant shifts,  looked  at  the  earl  speculatively. 

"There's  fact  behind  each  fiction,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

"  Don't  quibble,"  commanded  Lord  Yerington.  "  Give 
me  the  facts  about  this  ghost  story." 

A  look  of  whimsical  intelligence  appeared  in  Tom's 
face. 

"  Perhaps  my  lord  seeks  a  lady  ?  "  he  said  slyly. 

The  rascal  and  the  nobleman  exchanged  glances.  Each 
was  wondering  how  far  he  could  trust  the  other. 

"  Her  appearance  here  was  strange  enough,"  Tom  was 


thinking.  "  Methinks  I  may  coin  this  circumstance  to 
my  advantage." 

It  was  Yerington's  nature  to  take  a  downright  course. 

"  A  lady  hath  been  kidnapped,"  he  said,  speaking 
slowly.  "  She  was  stole  from  her  home.  Yonder  in  the 
coaoh  sits  her  aunt,  the  Duchess  of  Croome,  in  great  dis- 
tress of  mind.  If  you  have  any  knowledge  that  can  help 
us,  you'll  be  well  paid  for  it." 

Tom  sucked  his  lips  and  considered.  That  thfs  hit 
near  Lord  Yerington's  own  interest  he  read  in  his  worn 
face,  in  the  impatience  which  he  only  kept  in  check  by  a 
visible  effort.  Then  he  recalled  his  former  kindness  to 
him.  He  had  helped  him.  It  was  through  his  patron- 
age that  his  mother  and  sister  were  now  earning  honest 
livings.  That  plant,  gratitude,  sometimes  roots  itself 
in  odd  corners  of  gnarled,  distorted  hearts.  Tom  pos- 
sessed an  intimate  and  complex  knowledge  of  evil,  but 
had  had  little  experience  of  kindliness.  His  mother  and 
his  sister  he  loved  in  his  own  warped  fashion. 

"  I  would  I  could  help  you  without  reward,  my  lord," 
he  said,  shamefaced  at  the  unfamiliar  stirring  in  his 
heart. 

Something  in  his  tone  made  hope  leap  up  within  Yer- 
ington,  and  a  deep  breath  escaped  him. 

"  I  felt,"  he  said,  "  that  you  had  some  knowledge." 

Tom  calmly  reviewed  the  chances. 

"  'Twill  mean  my  living,  my  lord.  I  must  cut  a  cul 
whose  help  has  filled  pockets  that  have  long  been  empty. 
It " 

Lord  Yerington  interrupted  him. 

"  Enough !  I  want  no  knowledge  of  your  affairs.  It 
will  pay  you  well  to  speak,  if  you  have  any  information 
that  would  help  us.  Do  not  keep  us  waiting,"  he  ended 
in  a  sudden  anguish  of  impatience. 

A  few  words  of  hurried  explanation  sent  Yerington 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

back  to  the  coach-side.  Tom  lounged  along,  some  dis- 
tance back  of  him,  making  a  great  parade  of  indifference 
to  cover  a  night-bird's  instinctive  avoidance  of  the  light 
about  the  inn.  He  could  see  that  the  duchess  was 
speaking  eagerly.  He  heard  her  exclamation  and  saw 
her  take  a  step  as  if  to  descend  from  the  coach. 

This  caused  him  to  hurry  forward  and  stand  bowing 
and  scraping  like  a  Frenchman. 

"  My  compliments,  your  grace,  my  very  best  compli- 
ments. Your  most  humble  and  obedient  servant." 

The  duchess  glared  at  him. 

"  What's  this  jack-o'-lantern  ?  "  she  asked  in  indignant 
surprise. 

Yerington  hastened  to  interfere. 

"  This,  your  grace,  is  the  man  of  whom  I  spoke  to 
you,  who  has  kindly  offered  to  help  us." 

The  bag-wig  bowed  half  to  the  earth  and  rose  again. 

"  I  protest,  your  grace,"  he  said,  with  his  hat  over  his 
heart,  "  I  am  in  a  twitter  at  my  own  presumption.  But 
is  it  your  grace's  intention  to  accompany  us?  " 

"  It  is,"  she  said  firmly,  visibly  fighting  her  distaste 
of  him. 

Again  he  bowed  with  fantastic  exaggeration. 

"  This  venture,  your  grace,  methinks  is  for  men  and 
not  for  a  lady." 

"  Drat  the  fellow !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess  indignantly, 
and  would  have  continued,  had  not  Yerington  checked 
her  with  gentle  patience. 

"  Dear  duchess,"  he  said,  "  the  man  is  right.  We 
know  not  what  may  lie  before  us  and  every  moment  is 
precious.  Permit  Foulkes  to  bring  you  some  refreshment 
from  the  inn  and  let  us  go  on." 

"  I've  ever  hated  my  own  sex,"  growled  the  duchess. 
"  Well,  in  mercy,  off  with  you  then  and  fetch  the  child ; 
for  my  heart  is  hungry  for  her  and  aching  with  dread." 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE   TITHE-BARN 

Turned   King's  evidence,  sad  to  state — 
But  John  was  never  immaculate. 

— AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

LORD  YERINGTON  followed  Tom,  and  Michael  came  up 
in  the  rear  with  a  lantern. 

Seeing  it,  Tom  returned  and  whispered: 
"  Cloke  that !    'Tis  for  honest  men,  not  thieves." 
Yerington  turned,  with  a  suppressed  exclamation  at  his 
own  oversight,  and  Michael  closed  the  tin  lantern-slide. 
Together    they    stole    past    the    inn    under    the    deep 
shadow  of  a  beech-tree  and  beneath  the  stone  arch  of  the 
gateway. 

The  wind  had  died  down.  The  air  was  moist,  warm 
and  breathless.  The  moon  shone  occasionally  through 
scattered  clouds.  Ahead  of  them  ran  the  pallid  grey  of 
the  untenanted  road,  winding  off  into  obscurity. 

The  silence,  the  darkness,  the  mystery,  the  moments 
stretched  to  hours  in  the  intensity  of  his  anxiety — all 
spelt  fear  and  mounting  dread  to  Lord  Yerington.  His 
heart  hung  heavy  in  his  bosom  while  his  imagination 
painted  a  thousand  terrors  against  the  screen  of  the 
night.  His  ignorance  of  conditions  and  the  enforced  self- 
suppression  entailed  in  this  unexplained  quest  in  which 
all  issues  hung  upon  the  good  faith  of  a  man  whom  he 
had  reason  to  distrust  to  the  core,  wrung  his  patience 
almost  beyond  control. 

289 


290  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

At  this  moment  the  moon  burst  through  a  rift  in  the 
clouds  and  the  scene  immediately  about  them  sprang  out 
in  sudden  sharp  contrast  of  black  and  silver.  Tom's 
peaked  face  was  revealed,  shrewd  and  concentrated. 

Yerington  drew  near  and  took  his  arm  in  a  vise-like 
grip. 

"  Whither  do  you  lead  us  ?  "  he  whispered,  the  inten- 
sity of  his  apprehension  wringing  the  question  from 
him. 

Tom  crouched  further  into  the  inky  shadow  of  the  wall, 
'dragging  his  questioner  after  him. 

"  Damn  the  moon !  "  he  muttered.  "  I'll  lead  you  all 
to  hell  if  you  don't  follow  me  in  silence." 

His  voice  thrilled  in  unmistakable  earnestness.  Its 
tone  awakened  a  faith  in  Lord  Yerington  that  braced 
his  nerves. 

The  wall  ran  parallel  with  the  road.  With  bent  backs 
they  followed,  pressed  close  against  it — splashing  through 
pools  of  water  and  unconscious  of  the  sting  of  nettles 
through  which  they  broke  their  way.  With  the  acute- 
ness  of  the  senses  that  comes  in  moments  of  great  mental 
tension,  Yerington  heard  the  creaking  of  his  companion's 
boots  and  perceived  the  fetid  odours  of  'decayed  scents 
that  arose  from  Tom's  wig  and  mingled  with  the  damp- 
ness and  the  smell  of  crushed  herbage. 

He  strained  his  eyes  ahead,  seeking  for  an  indication  of 
the  focus  of  their  expedition. 

Gradually,  amid  the  murkiness  of  the  half-lighted  night 
he  discerned  the  black  hulk  of  the  barn.  It  loomed  vast 
and  exaggerated  in  the  gloom,  and  it  struck  upon  his 
mood,  indescribably  sinister  and  threatening.  Was  this 
cavernous  place  pregnant  with  horrid  possibilities,  their 
destination?  His  heart  registered  the  suspicion  with  a 
sickening  bound.  Again  he  hastened  forward  and  laid 
a  restraining  hand  on  Tom's  shoulder. 


THE    TITHE-BARN  291 

"  My  Go'd!  "  he  ejaculated,  "  not  in  there." 

Tom  turned  a  beset  face  toward  him. 

"  In  there,"  he  muttered,  "  and  if  you're  wise  you'll 
let  me  general  you." 

The  seriousness  of  his  tone  bit  in,  but  Lord  Yering- 
ton's  self-repression  had  broken  bounds. 

The  wall  terminated  before  it  reached  the  barn.  He 
dashed  heedlessly  across  the  patch  of  intervening  moon- 
light and  into  the  shadow  of  its  side  without  a  word, 
Michael  following  close  at  his  heels.  The  latter  had, 
despite  his  haste,  sufficient  caution  to  leave  the  lantern 
darkened.  They  felt  along  the  wall  of  the  building, 
stumbled  over  a  plough  that  was  leaning  against  it, 
rounded  a  water-trough,  and  brought  down  a  bucket  with 
a  clatter.  This  sound  was  followed  by  an  outburst  of 
barking  from  the  house-dog  in  the  farm  hard  by,  which 
could  be  heard  straining  at  its  chain. 

Lord  Yerington  knew  that  sound  had  put  everyone 
within  hearing  distance  upon  their  guard,  but  he  was 
weary  of  repressed  measures  and  impatient  for  action. 
He  advanced  heedlessly  to  the  great  barn  door,  crazily 
agape  upon  its  hinges,  and  followed  by  the  soft  patter 
of  Tom's  oaths. 

When  the  latter  came  forward  and  arrested  Lord  Yer- 
ington by  a  word,  that  gentleman  could  not  know  how 
much  self-renunciation  entered  into  the  act.  He  could 
not  suspect  that  Tom  possessed  his  own  type  of  profes- 
sional pride,  and  that  he  felt  humbled  at  being  committed, 
as  an  accessory,  to  methods  so  unbusinesslike.  But  he 
had  set  himself  to  help  this  blundering,  sorely  tried  noble- 
man, and  he  felt  the  stirring  of  an  odd  impulse  of  kindli- 
ness towards  him. 

"  Let  me  go  first,  my  lord,"  he  whispered,  "  I'll  draw 
him  with  a  false  signal." 

Yerington  turned,  his  breath  coming  short,  and  en- 


292  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

deavoured  to  read  his  face.  Without  awaiting  an  answer, 
Tom  had  slipped  past  him  and  pushed  back  the  door,  re- 
vealing the  rayless  darkness  of  the  barn's  interior. 

Those  without  listened,  every  muscle  tense. 

An  owl  hooted  softly;  there  was  the  deep  breathing, 
rustle  and  stamp  of  disturbed  cattle; — then  but  the 
drone  of  the  warm  summer  night. 

Yerington's  fear  was  roused  to  frenzy. 

He  made  an  onward  movement,  when  again  Tom's 
whistle  sounded,  clear  and  distinct,  and  he  curbed  him- 
self to  wait  a  possible  response. 

The  signal  was  followed  by  the  somnolent  tinkle  of  a 
distant  sheep-bell — and  again  but  the  cricket-blurred  si- 
lence. 

"  Let  us  within,"  cried  Yerington,  "  and  make  an  end 
of  this." 

He  pushed  back  the  door  with  no  pretence  of  caution 
and  entered.  These  pauses  had  maddened  him. 

His  nostrils  were  assailed  by  the  dry  prickle  of  straw- 
dust  as  he  stood  staring  into  the  darkness.  After  an  in- 
terval he  faintly  discerned  Tom,  motionless  as  a  statue, 
standing  near  by.  His  tall,  lank  figure  was  unmistak- 
able, even  appearing  as  a  dim  blur  where  the  faint  light 
entering  at  the  door  dulled  the  blackness,  and  his  im- 
passivity, to  Lord  Yerington's  mind,  increased  the  sense 
of  menace  within  the  peopled  emptiness.  A  hovering  sus- 
picion of  his  guide's  good  faith  suddenly  focussed  into 
conviction  within  his  racked  mind. 

"  Michael  open  the  lantern,"  he  demanded  with  harsh 
abruptness,  as  a  flame  of  anger  and  doubt  flashed  through 
him. 

Without  a  sound  Tom  threw  himself  prone  and 
wriggled  into  hiding  beneath  the  straw. 

Against  the  darkness  Lord  Yerington's  face  suddenly 
shone  out,  the  lips  tense,  the  eyes  alert  above  the  white 


THE    TITHE-BARN  293 

splash  of  his  ruffles,  Michael's  face  appearing  dimly  be- 
hind it. 

Tom,  from  beneath  the  interlacing  straw,  watched  them 
sharply. 

They  moved  forward  in  a  floating  circle  of  light, 
searching  the  barn  step  by  step.  They  went  cautiously 
about  high-piled  sacks  of  grain,  sending  the  rats  scuttling; 
they  peered  into  the  enclosures  where  the  cattle  winked 
at  them  with  an  appearance  of  gentle,  unprotesting  in- 
jury; and  made  their  way  in  through  the  billows  of  hay 
that  in  places  rose  almost  to  the  roof,  their  anxiety  mount- 
ing with  every  step. 

"  If  the  rascal  hath  cozened  us  he'll  pay  dearly  for  it," 
muttered  Yerington. 

As  he  spoke  his  foot  encountered  a  resistance,  obstinate, 
yet  yielding.  He  snatched  the  lantern  and  leaned  for- 
ward, the  light  straying  among  the  golden  litter  of  the 
hay.  Buried  deep  in  it  he  perceived  the  figure  of  a 
man.  He  was  lying  in  a  real  or  pretended  slumber. 
His  head  was  resting  upon  his  arm  and  was  thrown  far 
back,  revealing  his  brown,  muscular  neck. 

As  Lord  Yerington  bent  over  him,  Michael  heard  a 
fierce  exclamation.  He  had  recognised  the  ruffian  of 
Fleet  Street.  He  spoke,  and  his  tone  put  an  end  to  the 
simulated  slumber. 

"  On  your  feet,  dog,"  he  said,  with  a  savage  kick,  "  and 
give  an  account  of  yourself." 

For  an  instant  a  faint  ironic  smile  appeared  on  Will's 
face.  His  eyelids  twitched,  but  they  did  not  lift. 

Between  these  two  men,  beau  and  ruffling  rogue,  there 
existed  down  in  the  roots  of  their  natures  a  something 
that  made  them  instinctive  enemies.  It  was  a  matter 
aside  from  code  or  circumstance  and  was  rooted  in  a 
primitive  instinct  in  each  man  which,  when  they  met, 
brushed  aside  culture  in  one,  and  love  of  gain  in  the 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

other,  and  left  them,  when  face  to  face,  swayed  by  savage 
impulses. 

Will  crept  with  rage  as  he  felt  the  boot-thrust  in  his 
seasoned  ribs.  At  its  impact  he  cared  not  a  jot  for  cau- 
tion or  reward.  His  strong,  yellow  teeth  ground  upon 
one  another,  and  he  felt  grim  joy  in  his  power  to  tor- 
ture. 

This  obstinate  silence  worked  upon  Lord  Yerington 
like  a  poison.  His  face  was  colourless,  but  his  tone  was 
ominously  quiet. 

"Answer  me,  you  hound,"  he  said,  half  breathless 
with  his  passion,  "or  I'll  throttle  you." 

In  defiance  of  this  threat,  the  man  stretched  himself 
like  a  dog  and  yawned. 

"  Good  farmer,"  he  muttered,  "  I  don't  harm  your 
hay.  The  devil  take  it  for  prickliness.  A  pox  on  your 
poor  fields,  say  I." 

Yerington  turned  round  in  exasperation. 

"  A  barn  means  a  rope  somewhere.     Fetch  one." 

Michael  swung  off  on  his  mission  and  Yerington  was 
left  in  the  darkness  with  the  fuming  rascal.  He  stood, 
his  sword  in  his  hand,  consumed  with  fears  for  Philida, 
impatient  of  the  fleeing  moments,  and  filled  with  black 
anger  against  the  rogue  who  defied  him.  Tom  he  had 
forgotten;  he  was  too  contemptuous  for  caution. 

Suddenly  he  felt  a  movement.  Cursing  his  own 
thoughtlessness  he  went  down  like  a  log.  He  was  in  an 
embrace  like  a  vise.  Instinctively  he  flashed  up  his  arms, 
seeking  to  keep  them  free  even  at  the  risk  of  exposing 
his  body.  His  sword  had  escaped  his  grasp  in  the  sur- 
prise of  the  attack. 

He  felt  Will's  iron  fingers  relentlessly  searching  for 
his  neck.  He  could  hear  a  click  in  his  antagonist's  throat, 
half  of  joy,  half  of  blind  fury.  Together  they  writhed 
over  the  yielding  hay,  each  mutely  seeking  for  an  ad- 


THE    TITHE-BARN  295 

vantage,  interlocked,  muscle  braced  to  muscle,  in  a  death- 
grip  of  hatred  and  elemental  thirst  to  exterminate. 

Tom  watched  breathlessly  for  the  issue  of  the  fight 
sufficiently  forgetful  of  his  caution  to  rise,  as  he  strained 
his  eyes  in  the  darkness,  determined  on  a  retreat  if  things 
went  against  Lord  Yerington,  and  inwardly  fuming  at 
the  turn  affairs  had  taken. 

Even  in  the  earnest  of  the  fight  Yerington  felt  a  fastid- 
ious loathing  for  the  malodorous  contact  with  the 
man  whom  he  held  in  an  embrace  to  the  death.  Slowly, 
inch  by  inch,  his  superior  skill  was  telling.  He  was 
not  the  stronger,  but  the  more  skilled  man,  and  Mr. 
Broughton's  lessons  had  been  applied  both  to  muscle  and  a 
mind  of  nimble  quality.  Gradually,  he  gained  a  grip 
upon  his  antagonist's  throat. 

As  he  heard  him  gasp  and  felt  him  beginning  to  weaken, 
his  relentlessness  increased.  His  teeth  were  clenched. 
Into  his  iron  fingers  he  ground  revenge  for  that  attempt 
of  Fleet  Street;  revenge  for  Philida's  present  plight; 
revenge  for  that  torturing,  scorching  silence.  The  face 
above  the  pinioned  throat  grew  crimson  in  the  darkness, 
purple,  blue, — yet  Yerington's  mad  anger  burned  un- 
slaked. 

Suddenly  a  flood  of  light  revealed  to  him  his  enemy's 
distorted  face.  Michael's  hand  was  upon  his  arm,  his 
agitated  voice  in  his  ears. 

"  My  lord,"  he  besought,  "  for  God's  sake,  restrain 
yourself.  No  good  will  come  of  this." 

Slowly  the  blood  left  Lord  Yerington's  eyes,  and  the 
fumes  cleared  from  his  brain.  His  fingers  upon  the 
brawny  throat  relaxed  and  Will  fell  half-unconscious  into 
the  straw. 

Yerington  rubbed  a  hand  across  his  brow. 

"  Faith,"  he  said,  his  voice  low  and  hoarse,  "  I  was 
nigh  to  madness." 


296  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

He  stood  for  an  instant,  his  hand  on  Michael's 
shoulder,  for  a  sudden  shaking  had  come  upon  him. 
Then  he  turned  again  to  Will  with  determined  patience, 
conquering  himself,  though  his  gorge  rose  at  the  sight 
of  the  man. 

"  Sirrah,  now  will  you  speak?" 

The  smile  was  undiminished  on  Will's  swollen  face. 

"  Gad,  sir  farmer,"  he  wheezed,  through  his  bruised 
throat,  "  this  is  scurvy  hospitality,"  and  he  sank  into  a 
silence  that  told  of  a  will  broken  by  neither  fear  nor 
death. 

"  The  rope  is  best  for  such  as  he,"  came  in  Michael's 
voice,  cold,  with  a  contempt  so  profound  that  it  helped 
to  rationalise  Lord  Yerington. 

Together  they  bound  the  man,  bringing  the  knots  into 
place  with  merciless  severity,  and  securing  him  to  one  of 
the  scantlings  of  the  barn.  Nothing  could  wipe  the 
smile  from  his  lips,  until  a  straying  glance  discerned 
Tom's  face  in  the  background.  As  he  recognised  him  his 
eyes  narrowed  to  a  slit,  the  left  drooping  to  closing. 
For  an  instant,  in  his  surprise,  he  was  impassive.  The 
next  he  strained  at  his  bonds,  his  lips  flecked  with  foam. 
Assured  of  his  helplessness,  he  ceased  and  swore  fluently 
with  precise  selection  of  words  that  left  Tom  drooping. 

That  worthy  did  not  reply.  He  had  not  split  upon  a 
pal  without  a  prick  of  conscience. 

Once  more  Lord  Yerington  approached  the  prostrate 
rascal.  His  first  words  were  unfortunate.  All  his 
natural  facility  in  dealing  with  men  forsook  him  in  his 
intercourse  with  this  one. 

"  Remember  your  hanging  lies  within  my  hands,"  he 
began,  "  and  tell  me  where  the  lady  is  whom  we  seek. 
If  you  do  so,  Heaven  forgive  me  for  it,  you  shall  have 
your  pardon." 

Will's  only  reply  was  to  roll  one  savage  eye  at  him. 


THE    TITHE-BARN  897 

The  earl's  ire  threatened  to  overcome  him. 

"  Come,  sirrah,"  he  said,  "  though  it  sickens  me  to 
compound  with  such  villainy,  you  shall  be  rewarded — 
well  rewarded." 

Still  the  look  alone  answered  him. 

"  I'll  make  it  a  thousand  pounds,"  said  Yerington, 
stooping  to  treat. 

Silence. 

"  Two  thousand." 

"  A  pox  on  your  burrs,  sir  farmer,"  said  Will,  with  a 
yawn,  and  closed  his  eyes. 

Again  blind  fury  possessed  Yerington.  He  took  Will 
by  the  shoulders  and  shook  him  until  his  teeth  chattered. 
It  was  murder,  stark  murder,  that  Michael  read  in  his 
expression. 

"  Let  us  search  again,  my  lord,"  he  besought. 
"  There's  nought  to  gain  from  this  villain,  and  my  lady 
may  be  in  need." 

This  reflection  brought  Yerington  to  his  senses. 

"  You  are  right,  Michael.  Follow  us,"  he  ended, 
turning  to  Tom. 

He  would  not  trust  him  alone  with  his  late  partner. 

Foot  by  foot  they  researched  the  barn.  Not  an  inch 
of  it  escaped  them.  It  was  with  an  exclamation  of 
something  like  despair  that  the  earl  came  to  halt  near  the 
door. 

As  he  did  so,  he  heard  the  man  in  the  straw  laughing 
to  himself. 

Later,  Will  was  resolved  to  seek  out  Lord  Yerington 
and  obtain  his  blackmail.  Now,  something  in  his  man- 
ner and  personality  roused  within  him  that  devil,  his 
familiar,  and  he  determined  to  wait,  even  if  he  did  so  at 
a  risk. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

A  JACOBITE   HIDING-PLACE 

Du   bist   wie   eine   Blume 
So  hold  und  schoen  und   rein ; 
Ich  schau  dich  an,  und  Wehmuth 
Schleicht  mir  ins  Herz  hinein. 

— HEINE. 

THE  barn-door  closed  behind  Lord  Yerington  with  a 
creak  like  a  note  of  sinister  triumph. 

He  stood  a  moment,  his  head  tilted  backward,  gazing 
up  at  the  great  building.  Tom,  he  was  at  last  persuaded, 
was  honestly  seeking  to  help  him.  Where,  then,  lay  the 
key  to  the  enigma? 

Fortune,  who  had  so  long  cast  down  her  plums  to 
him  with  such  enervating  prodigality,  now  seemed  deter- 
mined to  cross  him  at  every  turn. 

Into  his  mind  surged  a  thousand  maddening  sugges- 
tions as  he  searched  for  a  logical  explanation  for  Will's 
strange  perverseness,  for  his  preference  for  an  assassina- 
tion in  the  dark  to  reward. 

For  a  moment  Yerington  stood  like  a  broken  man. 

"  Where  is  she,"  Michael  heard  him  mutter,  "  my 
God,  where  is  she?" 

As  Michael  heard  the  note  of  unselfish  fear  and  love 
in  his  voice,  his  hatred  of  him  died  forever. 

Only  for  a  moment  did  Yerington  stand  inert.  The 
next  he  was  roused  to  feverish  movement.  Act  he  must, 
though  he  knew  not  where  to  turn.  He  took  a  few  dis- 
ordered strides,  to  and  fro,  scarcely  conscious  of  what 
he  did. 

He  started,  as  he  perceived  that  a  woman  was  stand- 
ing beside  him.  He  gave  a  choked  cry,  his  mind  on 

298 


A    JACOBITE    HIDING-PLACE         299 

Philida;  but  the  duchess'  agitated  voice  dismissed  the 
gleam  of  hope. 

"  Yerington,"  she  questioned,  "  where  is  the  child  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  answered  Yerington^  with  a  break  in  his 
voice,  "  the  villain  who  stole  her  we  have  captured  in 
that  barn,  but  her  we  cannot  find." 

"  What,"  shrilled  the  duchess,  "  you  have  found  the 
rogue  and  yet  you  retreat !  Do  you  call  yourself  a  man  ? 
It  seems  after  all,  this  quest  was  for  a  woman." 

She  began  to  hasten  toward  the  barn  almost  at  a  run. 
Moved  by  her  courage  and  distress,  Yerington  went  after 
her,  his  lips  in  the  clip  of  his  teeth. 

"  Let  me  search,"  she  cried,  as  she  hastened  on.  "  I 
knew  a  man  could  find  nought  else,  but  I  thought  I 
could  trust  him  to  discover  the  woman  he  loved." 

"  Dear  duchess,"  said  Yerington,  "  I  am  persuaded  we 
waste  time.  Let  us  rouse  those  at  the  farm,  summon 
assistance  wherever  we  may  find  it,  and  leave  no  inch 
of  ground  unturned.  'Tis  all  that  is  left  to  us  now." 

For  a  moment  her  long-sustained  habit  of  secretiveness 
fought  wordlessly,  blindly  back  at  him.  Her  eyes,  heavy 
with  weeping,  flashed  antagonism  at  the  tall  figure  beside 
her  before  her  will  finally  broke,  and  with  it  was  swept 
away  her  unreasoning  impulse  of  false  prudence.  Even 
then  her  assent  was  grudging. 

"  On  your  head  be  all  responsibility,  but  for  Heaven's 
sake  hasten.  As  for  that  rogue  within,  I'd  torture  his 
eyes  from  him,  but  I'd  have  the  truth." 

By  common  impulse  they  now  turned  toward  the  farm 
where  they  saw  the  dancing  of  a  moving  lantern  amid 
the  trees. 

Tom's  quick  instincts  guided  him  to  the  facts. 

"  Gad,"  he  said  below  his  breath,  with  something  like 
a  laugh,  "  he  would  loose  the  dog  on  us,  and  'tis  little 
like  the  brute  will  know  gentry  from  gaol-bird." 


300  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Yerington  recognised  the  danger  in  a  flash. 

"  My  good  man,"  he  called  out  sharply,  "  do  not  loose 
your  dog.  We're  harmless  folk  and  wish  you  no  ill. 
Rather,  we  seek  your  help." 

There  was  a  moment  of  amazed  silence,  then  came  an 
exclamation  of  cynical  disbelief  and  the  lantern  moved 
again. 

This  time  the  duchess'  voice  rushed  in  before  Yer- 
ington could  speak. 

"  Drat  the  fellow !  Would  you  be  up  for  setting 
your  animal  upon  the  Duchess  of  Croome?  Saucy  ac- 
tions, these!  Come  hither,  for  we've  need  of  you." 

The  lantern  wavered  and  halted.  Yerington,  deter- 
mined to  parley  no  further,  started  toward  it,  the  duchess 
following.  As  they  approached  they  could  distinguish 
the  farmer's  dark  frieze  coat,  evidenty  donned  in  haste, 
for  the  pink  of  bare  shanks  appeared  beneath  it,  and  above 
it  was  faintly  revealed  a  head  round  and  red  as  one  of 
his  own  apples,  for  he  had  not  paused  to  assume  his  wig. 
He  was  obviously  still  hesitating  as  to  his  course,  though 
the  duchess'  voice  had  carried  a  tithe  of  conviction  to 
his  mind. 

As  they  neared  him,  however,  he  raised  an  old-fashioned 
blunderbuss  to  his  shoulder,  and  they  halted,  gazing  down 
its  black  mouth.  As  they  did  so  they  could  hear  Tom 
snigger  in  the  background. 

"  Another  inch,"  said  the  farmer,  "  and  you'll  have  the 
whole  of  it,  if  you  was  half  the  peerage." 

"  That's  right,  John,  the  hussy,"  cried  a  woman's 
voice,  and  a  dim  white  semi-circle  at  one  of  the  windows 
took  on  the  semblance  of  a  nightcap  round  a  blur  of 
face. 

This  interruption  moved  the  duchess  to  ire  and  utterly 
killed  her  passing  sense  of  fear.  She  ignored  her  dignity 
and  approached  the  yawning  blunderbuss'  mouth. 


A    JACOBITE    HIDING-PLACE         301 

"  Enough  of  woman's  talk,"  she  demanded.  "  Let 
me  have  my  say." 

Yerington  was  before  her. 

"  My  good  man,"  he  said,  striding  over  the  damp  grass, 
"  a  young  lady  hath  been  stolen  from  her  home.  Prithee, 
can  you  give  us  news  of  her  ?  " 

Assured  at  last  of  the  quality  of  the  gentleman  who 
addressed  him,  the  farmer  lowered  his  weapon,  while  the 
dog  in  the  background  growled  and  strained  at  his  chain, 
and  the  cap-border  in  the  window  trembled  with  suspicion 
and  sent  down  muttered  comments,  listening  keenly  the 
while. 

"  A  young  lady,"  echoed  the  farmer  dazedly. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Yerington,  burning  with  impatience. 
"  The  rascal  who  stole  her  we  have  traced  to  your  barn, 
but  of  the  young  lady  we  can  find  no  sign." 

"  Humph !  a  sly  baggage,  I'll  be  bound,"  asserted  the 
night-cap. 

The  farmer  again  had  recourse  to  scratching  his  bare 
poll. 

"  Ecod,"  he  mused,  "  I'm  dumned.  A  lady  in  my 
barn.  I'm  dumned." 

He  flooded  the  light  about  in  growing  bewilderment 
and  a  final  stare  at  the  duchess. 

"  Good  Lord,  man !  "  cried  Yerington,  interrupting  an- 
other outburst  of  her  Grace  of  Croome,  "  the  minutes  are 
passing!  Tell  us,  have  you  knowledge  of  any  lurking- 
place  within  your  barn  where  a  woman  might  be  hid?  " 

The  farmer  sought  to  thrash  out  an  idea  by  renewed 
scratching  of  his  puzzled  head,  but  the  nightcap  at  the 
window  was  of  quicker  wit. 

"  Lud,  John,"  it  said,  vibrant  with  interest  and  a 
change  of  sympathy,  "  there  is  the  great  chimney.  Dost 
recall  the  great  chimney,  slow  brain?  I've  scarce  patience 
with  thee!  It  may  be  the  lamb's  there." 


302 

"  I  prithee,  madam,"  said  Yerington,  advancing  toward 
her,  and  sweeping  off  his  hat  with  a  gesture  that  hence- 
forth made  her  his  ardent  champion,  "  will  you  in  kind- 
ness explain  further  ?  " 

"  There's  a  space,  within,"  she  began,  "  beside  the 
chimney.  You  approach  it  only  from  above.  It  would 
hold,  mayhap,  three  men  standing  upright.  It  is  said 
they  put  people  there  who  wouldn't  pay  their  tithes. 
But  we  have  no  knowledge  of  that,  being  honest  folk  our- 
selves, and  coming  of  honest  stock " 

She  trailed  on  volubly,  but  Yerington  was  off,  snatch- 
ing the  farmer's  lantern  as  he  went,  with  no  thought  of 
the  duchess,  who  was  obliged  to  make  her  way  in  darkness 
in  their  wake.  As  Yerington  ran  he  could  have  cursed 
himself  for  his  stupidity.  Such  hiding-places  were  by  no 
means  rare  in  this  Jacobite  county,  and  there  that  great 
chimney  had  stood  and  he  had  given  no  thought  to  it; 
for  which  nobody  would  have  blamed  him  but  himself. 

Behind  him  came  Tom,  cursing  softly,  after  his  habit. 
No  loyalty  to  Will  now,  he  told  himself,  who  all  this 
while  had  possessed  this  secret  of  the  barn  and  which, 
at  a  pinch,  might  have  meant  the  difference  between  life 
and  death  to  him;  and  Will  had  chosen  not  to  share  it. 
He  lent  himself  now  to  Lord  Yerington's  cause  with  an 
undivided  heart. 

They  entered  the  barn.  The  ladder  lay  as  the  farm- 
er's wife  had  said.  To  raise  it  and  place  it  against  the 
rough  stone  of  the  chimney,  was  the  work  of  an  instant. 

Yerington  mounted,  but  as  he  neared  the  top  he  turned 
suddenly  cold  and  sick.  He  paused  with  his  head  in  the 
space  just  beneath  the  roof  to  gather  himself  together. 
The  silence  within  was  ominous.  For  the  moment  the 
dread  of  what  he  might  have  to  meet  made  all  the  world 
swim  black.  Above  him  there  was  the  whirl  of  disturbed 
swallows. 


A    JACOBITE    HIDING-PLACE         303 

He  took  the  lantern  in  his  hand  and  swung  himself 
to  place  on  the  top  of  the  grey  stones  where  they  did  not 
near  the  rafters, 

"  Philida,"  he  called  softly. 

The  silence  chilled  him,  though  he  had  not  dared  hope 
for  a  reply.  He  lowered  the  lantern  into  the  space  built 
beside  the  chimney.  It  filled  it  with  a  gentle  light,  but 
left  the  bottom  in  shadowed  darkness.  The  cavity  was 
rough,  and  smoked  in  places  by  the  candles  of  the 
prisoners,  who  had  spent  anxious,  haunted  hours  within. 
Yerington  climbed  over  the  wall  and  began  to  descend, 
clinging  to  the  angles  with  knees,  feet  and  hands. 

At  length  the  light  shone  upon  a  heap  of  inert, 
crumpled  white  beneath. 

Suddenly  the  scene  seemed  hideously  familiar.  He  felt 
as  if  all  his  life  long  he  had  lived  to  this  moment,  when 
he  should  see  his  love  lying  there,  crushed  and  senseless, 
perhaps  dying  or  dead. 

He  slipped  down,  placed  the  lantern  aside,  and  lifted 
Philida.  Her  head  hung  back  helplessly,  the  whites  of 
her  eyes  showing  beneath  her  half-opened  lids.  Her 
heavy,  unbound  curls  fell  over  his  arm,  and  their  well- 
remembered  perfume  clutched  at  his  heart.  He  gasped 
as  he  perceived  the  heavy  bandage  about  her  mouth. 
His  hands  did  not  tremble  as  he  unbound  it.  He  was 
flaming  with  white  fury  against  the  man  who  had 
brought  her  to  this.  He  removed  the  gag  and  leaned 
near  in  breathless  anxiety,  his  cheek  close  to  her  mouth, 
seeking  for  an  indication  of  life,  and  his  hand  upon  her 
pulse.  After  an  interval  he  felt  a  light  throb  against  his 
finger-tips  and  a  faint  sigh  escaped  her. 

In  the  reaction  of  his  relief  the  tension  suddenly  gave 
way.  He  leaned  back,  the  soft,  childish  form  in  his 
arms.  His  love  rushed  out  to  her  in  a  flood.  He  held 
her  close,  yearning  over  her,  pitying  her,  suffering  with 


304  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

her;  calling  her  names  stamped  with  tenderness,  coins 
fresh  from  love's  mint, — all  his  pent-up  adoration  for  the 
first  time  bursting  its  boundaries  into  open  expression. 
To  him  at  this  moment  she  was  a  child,  but  with  a 
woman's  unconquerable  claim  upon  his  manhood.  The 
full  tide  of  love,  long  held  in  check,  would  not  be  denied. 
In  the  breathless  space  she  was  his — he  claimed  her.  He 
forgot  the  world,  he  forgot  the  relentless  next  hour, 
waiting  like  a  watchman  to  call  the  truth  and  his 
exile. 

The  eternal  moment  of  this  merging  of  all  of  existence 
into  sympathy,  and  yearning,  and  love  passed. 

Michael's  voice  sounded  above,  strangely  harsh  and 
moved. 

"  How  does  she,  my  lord  ?  " 

Yerington  was  snatched  back  into  the  realities.  He 
closed  his  eyes  a  moment  before  he  could  answer.  He 
alone  knew  that  it  was  his  farewell  to  Philida. 

"  But  indifferent  well,  Michael,"  he  said,  steadying  his 
voice  with  an  effort.  "  Prithee,  fetch  me  brandy." 

Michael's  head  disappeared. 

Yerington  still  held  Philida.  His  heart  was  beating 
maddeningly.  All  his  nature  was  concentrating  in  a 
longing  for  a  kiss.  He  had  hitherto  felt  himself  bound 
in  honour  to  steal  none  of  the  privileges  of  a  betrothed,  to 
which  he  knew  he  had  less  than  no  right.  But  why  not 
one  kiss?  Would  she,  in  her  gentleness,  begrudge  him 
that  caress — could  she  read  aright  all  the  dark  misery  of 
his  heart?  Those  sweet  lips,  through  which  the  breath 
came  faintly,  were  so  near  his  own.  Some  other  man 
must  cull  their  sweetness  when  he  had  passed  out  of  her 
life.  At  that  thought  a  jealous  anguish  scorched  through 
him.  Why  not  then  steal  this  brief  joy,  that  would  go 
with  him  to  his  grave  ?  He  leaned  nearer  and  still  nearer 
to  the  face  drooping  like  a  broken  lily  upon  his  arm. 


A    JACOBITE    HIDING-PLACE         303 

His  lips  met  hers,  soft  and  dewy  as  a  child's.  Then 
he  raised  his  head  with  something  like  a  sob,  pressing  her 
face  close  against  his  shoulder  as  if  to  hide  it  from  his 
gaze. 

"  My  love,  my  innocent,"  he  whispered. 

Again    Michael's  voice  sounded   above  him. 

"  Here's  the  brandy,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

Yerington  heeded  his  tone  with  the  ghost  of  a  bitter 
smile. 

His  lover's  ears  detected  the  ring  of  jealousy  in  it. 

When  he  spoke  to  Michael,  the  voice  and  phrase  were 
gentle. 

"  Best  fetch  me  a  ladder,  lad,"  he  said. 

A  moment  later  he  mounted,  Philida  in  his  arms. 

When  the  duchess  saw  her  she  gave  a  frightened  cry. 

'  'Tis  but  a  swoon,"  said  Yerington.  "  Let  me  carry 
her  to  the  farmhouse." 

He  could  not  bear  to  relinquish  his  burden. 

He  entered  the  low-raftered  hall  and,  guided  by  the 
farmer's  wife,  who  was  now  all  officious  attention,  bore 
his  precious  burden  to  an  oak-panelled  room  and  laid  her 
down  on  a  high-piled  four-poster  bedstead. 

The  duchess  darted  past  him,  getting  to  her  niece  at 
last.  She  unpinned  her  kerchief  and  despatched  the 
farmer's  wife  for  vinegar  and  feathers.  Relieved  of  her 
most  intense  anxiety,  she  turned  to  Yerington. 

"  Well  may  you  stand  there,  useless  and  gaping.  To- 
morrow I  may  be  able  to  suffer  you,  but  for  to-night, 
upon  my  honour,  you  try  me  past  enduring.  Your  Lady 
Caroline,  forsooth!  But  for  you  the  child  would  be  in 
no  such  plight." 

She  had  but  voiced  the  thought  that  had  been  ham- 
mering dumbly  at  the  background  of  his  mind  all  night. 
He  took  one  more  look  at  Philida.  He  noted  the  soft, 
round  chin  with  its  half-dimple;  the  long  sweep  of  the 


306 

lashes  upon  the  cheek;  the  witching  curves  and  turns  of 
the  beloved  face.  Summoning  all  his  courage,  he  with- 
drew his  eyes  from  it  and  stumbled  blindly  from  the 
room. 

Philida  was  young  and  vigorous.  Beneath  the  crude 
but  effective  ministrations  of  the  farmer's  wife,  she  soon 
regained  consciousness;  and  the  sob  of  relief  and  joy  with 
which  she  recognised  the  duchess  reduced  that  dame  to 
tears,  of  which  she  was  almost  as  much  ashamed  as  a 
boy,  and  managed  with  as  ill  a  grace. 

Philida  looked  about  her,  wondering,  as  if  she  would 
have  asked  concerning  some  expected  presence,  but  she 
remained  silent. 

The  news  of  her  recovery  was  brought  to  Lord  Yer- 
ington  as  he  was  pacing  the  garden.  When  he  heard  it, 
he  raised  his  hat  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  mute  thank- 
fulness. 

The  dawn  was  colouring  the  eastern  horizon  with  a 
golden  promise  of  a  fair  day,  when  they  began  their  re- 
turn journey.  Yerington  borrowed  a  horse  from  the 
farmer  and  rode  beside  the  coach  window.  He  had  in- 
sisted upon  this  arrangement,  that  Philida  should  have 
more  privacy  and  comfort  within.  But  these  reasons 
were  not  all  the  truth.  The  sight  of  her  reproached  him 
ceaselessly. 

As  the  coach  rolled  on,  and  he  rose  and  fell  in  the 
saddle,  he  gave  no  heed  to  the  scene  through  which  they 
were  passing; — the  fresh  new  world  in  the  dawning 
light,  the  rim  of  the  sun,  a  sickle  of  gold  above  the  hills, 
and  the  mysterious  purple  of  the  ploughed  fields.  The 
lazy  whistle  of  the  ploughboy  came  across  the  emptiness 
with  a  plaintive  cadence,  full  of  suggested  sadness. 

His  eyes  strayed  off  to  the  dim  interior  of  the  coach. 
His  ears  were  strained  for  the  sound  of  Philida's  voice, 
which  reached  him  but  seldom,  for  most  of  the  time  she 


A    JACOBITE    HIDING-PLACE         307 

slept,  her  youth  and  health  yielding  to  Nature's  kind  Im- 
pulse of  restoration. 

As  they  approached  near  to  the  slight  elevation  that  led 
to  Marsden  House,  the  duchess  leaned  out  of  the  window, 
and  called  him  softly.  He  drew  near  to  catch  her  words. 

"  Come  to  me  to-day  at  twelve,  without  fail,"  she 
whispered.  "  I've  much  I  want  to  say  to  you." 

He  bowed  an  assent,  his  hand  upon  the  coach  window- 
casing. 

"And  she?"  he  questioned. 

With  a  smile,  she  pointed  to  the  interior  of  the  equip- 
age. The  smile  and  the  gesture  were  full  of  hovering 
motherhood.  The  duchess'  heart,  new  furrowed  by 
recent  fears  and  griefs,  was  very  tender  at  that  moment. 

Yerington  looked  in,  holding  his  breath. 

The  duchess  was  satisfied  with  his  expression.  She 
interrupted  him. 

"  At  twelve  ?  "  she  said. 

He  started,  and  gathered  himself  together  with  an 
effort. 

"  At  twelve,"  he  answered ;  and  raising  his  hat,  he 
wheeled  his  horse  and  cantered  away. 

"  I  never  thought  Yerington  could  be  so  hard  hit," 
mused  the  duchess  contentedly. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

COMMITTED   TO   DECEPTION 

Bad  begins,  and  worse  remains  behind. 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

TRUE  to  his  promise,  at  twelve  o'clock  Yerington  stood 
bowing  upon  the  threshold  of  the  morning-room  at  Mars- 
den  House,  whither  he  had  been  shown  at  the  duchess* 
request. 

During  his  ride  over,  he  had  been  tortured  by  conflicting 
resolves.  One  moment,  he  had  determined  to  tell  the 
truth,  simply  and  directly,  and  accept  his  dismissal — he 
knew  the  duchess  too  well  to  entertain  any  doubts  upon 
that  head — and  then  go  home  and  balance  his  obligation 
to  Lord  Burroughs  by  ending  the  matter.  This  resolve 
registered,  he  rode  on,  the  conflict  stilled  for  the  moment. 
Before  he  had  ridden  a  hundred  yards,  to  his  own 
surprise  he  found  that  a  new  impulse  was  battling 
to  the  front.  He  was  scarcely  conscious  of  its  voice 
within  him,  before  it  became  irresistible.  Why  face  this 
useless  ordeal?  Let  him  take  leave  of  the  duchess  with 
what  dignity  he  might.  She  would  know  when  it  was 
past.  He  did  not  name  Philida.  His  thoughts  veered 
away  from  her.  At  this  moment  he  had  not  the  strength 
to  face  that  battle. 

But  as  he  rode  up  to  Marsden  House,  the  most  honest 
and  strongest  of  him  was  the  master.  He  was  resolved 
to  tell  the  whole  truth,  cost  him  what  it  might. 

As  he  entered,  the  duchess  looked  up  from  where  she 
was  seated  at  her  escritoire. 

"  Come  in,  Knight-Errant,"  she  said,  extending  a  hand 
308 


COMMITTED    TO    DECEPTION       309 

for  his  salute ;  "  and  pray  be  seated  until  I've  sanded 
this  and  sealed  it.  I've  been  swimming  in  ink  for  the 
last  two  hours." 

Her  manner  was  brisk.  She  had  the  air  of  a  woman 
much  occupied  by  an  agreeable  pressure  of  affairs. 

He  chose  a  chair  by  the  hearth;  his  long  legs  ex- 
tended, dwarfing  the  delicate,  feminine  little  room;  and 
swinging  his  whip-stock  thoughtfully  between  his  knees, 
he  waited.  His  resolve  was  strong  upon  him,  and  he 
was  conscious  of  a  certain  large,  impersonal  patience. 
Life,  he  felt,  for  him  could  possess  no  more  surprises. 

The  duchess  finished  her  letters  and,  going  to  the  door, 
gave  them  to  a  lackey  in  the  hall. 

"  There,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  breath  of  triumph, 
"  that  is  the  second  lot ;  the  first  I  sent  to  catch  the  Fly- 
ing Mail." 

Lord  Yerington  had  risen  to  his  feet. 

The  duchess  paused  before  him,  smiling. 

"  Lud,  sirrah,"  she  said,  "  I  vow  Philida  has  come  off 
better,  poor  child,  she  looks  purely  compared  to  thee. 
What  a  chalky  visage  for  six  feet  one  and  thirteen  stone! 
Better  borrow  a  little  of  my  crimson  than  present  such 
a  complexion  to  your  lady-love's  inspection.  I'll  be 
bound  you  look  as  if  it  were  life  and  not  love  was  in 
the  question." 

He  gazed  at  her  thoughtfully. 

She  herself  looked  ruddy  and  well,  with  her  towering 
old-fashioned  fontange  in  which  she  still  persisted. 

"  Perhaps  'tis  love  and  life,"  he  said. 

The  'duchess,  secretly  pleased,  disparaged  him. 

"  Tut,  man,  leave  such  words  as  these  to  maids.  I'll 
be  sworn  you  men  are  of  a  hardier  constitution." 

He  took  a  few  troubled  steps  across  the  room,  and 
when  he  returned  again  and  faced  her,  he  wore  an  expres- 
sion the  duchess  had  never  perceived  in  him  before.  His 


310  A   DISCIPLE    OF   CHANCE 

face  was  stronger,  more  resolute,  and  sadder.  He  was 
determined  to  come  directly  to  the  point  and  tell  her  the 
truth  he  had  concealed  too  long. 

"  Duchess,"  he  began,  "  I've  something  of  grave  import 
I  must  say  to  you.  Let  me  tell  you  in  advance  that  no 
one  can  accuse  me  more  bitterly  than  I  accuse  myself." 

The  duchess  had  turned  away  and  was  fumbling  in  a 
bag  for  her  netting. 

"  Oh,  lud,  lud,"  she  said  over  her  shoulder,  "  the  same 
old  cry  again.  We've  had  all  that  out  before,  Yerington. 
You  have  told  me  that  you  loved  Philida,  and  no  woman 
stands  between  you.  Nothing  else  is  of  the  slightest  im- 
portance." 

She  had  taken  out  her  cherry-coloured  netting  now, 
and  seating  herself,  she  began  it  in  a  leisurely,  sociable 
fashion. 

"  I  warn  you,  Yerington,"  the  cherry-coloured  silk 
spinning  off  rapidly  beneath  her  skilful  ringers,  "  that 
rapine,  murder  and  sudden  death  would  not  affect  my 
appetite  for  dinner.  I'm  a  hard,  worldly  old  woman,  and 
my  one  virtue  is  the  fact  that  I  affect  to  be  nothing  bet- 
ter. As  for  Philida,  she  won't  hear  a  word  of  your  con- 
fession, so  don't  waste  time." 

His  face  was  so  serious  that  it  should  have  warned 
her.  But  she  was  so  occupied  with  her  own  ideas  that 
she  had  no  eyes  or  ears  for  him. 

"  Your  grace "  he  began. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  about  it,"  she  interrupted.  "  If 
you  must  tell  me,  of  that  anon,  but  now  listen  to  me. 
If  I've  not  presented  you  with  a  face  of  such  hang-dog 
gloom  as  you've  brought  here,  it  is  not  because  all  has 
been  well." 

"It  is  not  Philida?"  he  asked  in  instant  alarm. 

"  Nay,  not  Philida,"  she  mocked ;  "  she's  marvellous 
well,  for  one  who  has  been  so  sorely  tried." 


COMMITTED    TO   DECEPTION       311 

He  bit  his  lip  and  schooled  himself  to  patience. 

"  Seat  yourself,  and  let  us  talk  it  over,"  continued  the 
duchess.  "Take  that  chair  by  the  hearth,  and  mind  you 
don't  disturb  the  dogs." 

He  obeyed  her,  putting  down  at  the  same  time  a  hand 
to  pat  the  King  Charles  spaniels,  in  response  to  a  life- 
long, kindly  habit.  Every  instant  of  this  delay  was  tor- 
ture to  him.  He  was  filled  with  a  nervous  dread  of  the 
recurrence  of  his  irresolution,  and  he  longed  to  be  rid 
of  his  secret.  But  the  duchess  was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 

She  leaned  towards  him  to  give  her  manner  emphasis, 
her  fontange  nodding  to  her  words. 

"  Oh,  such  a  to-do  as  there  has  been !  And,  sure,  no- 
body could  have  planned  better  than  I.  I  thought  I 
had  not  left  a  loophole.  Yet  I  had  to  trust  that  Mrs. 
Culpepper." 

Her  defence  was  so  elaborate  that  amidst  his  abstraction 
Yerington  suspected  a  weakness  in  it.  He  felt  a  pre- 
monition of  something  wrong. 

"Trusted  Mrs.  Culpepper  with  what?"  he  queried. 
For  an  instant  he  felt  it  in  his  heart  to  wish  that  the 
duchess  was  less  of  a  general. 

"  Lud,"  she  continued,  "  I  can  scarce  hold  my  patience 
to  speak  of  her.  She  made  a  monstrous  blunder.  By 
now  half  the  county  knows  of  it,  or  if  it  does  not,  it  has 
some  mangled  version  containing  that  half-truth  that 
puts  poison  in  a  lie.  Do  you  follow  me  ?  " 

Lord  Yerington  did  follow  her.  It  took  all  his  pa- 
tience and  his  chivalry  to  contain  himself.  He  guessed 
at  much.  He  knew  the  duchess'  methods.  He  feared 
she  had  woven  a  web  in  her  too  great  anxiety,  which  had 
but  served  to  entangle  Philida.  He  raised  his  eyes  and 
as  they  met  the  duchess',  they  were  heavy  with  world- 
knowledge,  intelligence  and  chagrin. 

"  Yes,  that's  it,"   she  said,  replying  to  his  look,  and 


A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

she  folded  her  hands  upon  her  netting  and  waited  for  him 
to  speak. 

He  began  to  pace  the  floor,  moved  to  his  depths.  He 
realised,  as  the  duchess  did  not,  his  helplessness  to  mend 
matters.  Destiny  had  played  pranks  with  him  and 
in  his  tangled  life  Philida  had  become  involved. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"  But  surely  this  story  does  not  mingle  her  name  with 
mine?" 

"Oh,  doesn't  it?"  said  the  duchess,  and  she  took  an 
emphasising  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  My  God,  madam !  "  he  exclaimed  in  agitation ;  "  why 
need  it?  Do  you  think  that  I  will  spare  Lady  Caroline 
Dashwood?  Such  an  escapade  might  happen  to  any  girl 
where  a  jealous  woman  is  concerned.  Heaven  knows, 
the  world  may  have  a  hundred  versions,  and  they  will 
include  Lady  Caroline  and  me,  but  they  need  not  touch 
Philida  to  her  discredit." 

The  'duchess  took  a  second  pinch  of  snuff,  to  hide  a 
sudden  sense  of  discomfiture.  All  the  morning  she  had 
been  consoling  herself  by  blaming  Mrs.  Culpepper.  At 
the  sight  of  Yerington's  face,  her  faith  in  her  o\vn  in- 
fallibility wavered  for  an  instant.  But  that  was  the  last 
moment  when  she  would  confess  it. 

"  Can't  be  done,"  she  said.  "  I've  denied  Lady  Caro- 
line Dashwood  foot  and  horse." 

Yerington  half  reeled,  grasping  the  back  of  a  chair  and 
staring  at  her.  The  duchess  became  irritated. 

"  Lud,  man!"  she  exclaimed,  "don't  stand  there  gap- 
ing. But  for  you  and  your  precious  Lady  Caroline,  noth- 
ing would  have  happened.  Now  the  world  hath  it  pat.  It 
was  an  elopement.  Mr.  Mansur  disappeared  at  the  same 
time.  My  story  is  that  it  was  an  elopement,  and  that  I 
overtook  the  mad  young  people  and  brought  them  back. 


COMMITTED    TO    DECEPTION        313 

Now,  you  have  your  choice.  Shall  she  have  eloped  with 
you  or  with  Mr.  Mansur?" 

He  uttered  an  imprecation  and  turned  away. 

"  It's  no  use  losing  your  temper,"  she  said.  "  Things 
have  got  into  a  tangle,  and  I  have  simply  put  my  woman's 
wit  to  mending  them." 

"  Good  heavens !  "  he  exclaimed  beneath  his  breath, 
"  and  how  have  you  mended  them  ?  " 

The  duchess  felt  a  ray  of  returning  good  humour  and 
a  touch  of  pride. 

"  Sit  down,  and  I'll  explain  to  you." 

To  seat  himself  quietly  at  that  moment  of  torture  and 
uncertainty  was  an  impossibility. 

"  I  pray  you,  duchess,"  he  said,  "  pardon  me.  Me- 
thinks  I  can  listen  best  upon  my  feet." 

As  she  spoke  he  wandered  restlessly  about  the  room. 

The  duchess  again  took  up  her  netting,  and  always 
afterwards  the  acute  misery  of  that  moment  was  asso- 
ciated in  Yerington's  mind  with  her  restless  needle. 

"  First,  let  me  say,"  she  began,  "  if  the  hussies  will  talk, 
give  them  something  to  talk  about.  If  they  will  bark 
up  some  tree,  see  to  it  that  the  tree  is  of  your  choosing 
and  trimmed  to  your  taste." 

"  Good  God,  what  have  you  done?"  cried  Yerington; 
a  presentiment  seizing  him  that  turned  him  cold. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  she  returned  tartly,  disliking 
his  tone.  "  I've  sent  off  a  sheaf  of  letters  to  the  worst 
scandal-mongers  in  the  town.  Wouldn't  the  poorest 
general  set  himself  to  dismounting  the  biggest  artillery? 
I've  written  and  despatched  by  post  this  morning  a  letter 
to  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry;  to  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  whom  you  knew  in  Italy,  with  such  tatters  of 
reputation  as  it  has  pleased  the  gods  to  spare  her ;  to  Mis- 
tress Chudleigh,  who  has  lost  hers  so  long  since  that  its 


314  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

very  ghost  is  laid,  and  Lady  Caroline  Petersham,  who,  if 
she  ever  had  one,  has  forgot  it." 

Yerington's  consternation  broke  bounds. 

"  I  entreat  you,  madam,"  he  said  in  the  suppressed  voice 
of  a  man  who  fears  to  trust  himself,  "  what  have  you 
told  these  ladies?" 

"  I've  told  them,"  she  said,  "  that  you  would  have 
eloped  together,  but  that  I  overtook  you.  I've  woven  a 
pretty  tale  of  your  mutual  infatuation.  I've  formally 
announced  Philida's  betrothal  and  I've  set  the  marriage 
day  within  the  month." 

Yerington's  consternation  was  too  profound  for  the 
weak  resource  of  words.  He  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  at  the  sunshiny  world  with  eyes  that  did  not 
see.  The  duchess'  voice  came  to  him  as  from  a  distance. 

"You  surely  aren't  displeased,  Yerington?"  she  went 
on.  "  The  jades  would  talk  and  I  gave  them  something 
to  talk  about.  I  chose  the  worst  scandal-mongers  to 
stop  their  mouths  with  a  tale  that  had  a  trace  of  spice 
in  it." 

As  Yerington  continued  silent,  she  turned  towards  him 
indignantly. 

"  Lud !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  vow  and  protest  I  thought 
you  had  more  of  the  blood  of  your  father  in  you.  A 
match  with  the  Lady  Philida  Wentworth  is  not  one  to  be 
ashamed  of." 

For  a  moment  in  her  sense  of  injured  pride,  the  secret 
of  Philida's  fortune  hovered  on  the  verge  of  her  lips, 
but  she  put  the  thought  aside  and  continued  the  subject 
upon  another  line. 

"  She'll  scarce  be  in  town  a  fortnight  before  she  can 
have  the  choosing  of  half  a  dozen  of  the  most  likely  }'oung 
sparks  there.  All  the  world  is  not  blind,  if  you  have  but 
a  half-vision.  Why,  in  the  face  of  your  manner  I  scarce 
have  courage  to  tell  you  the  rest  of  my  plan.  I  had 


COMMITTED    TO    DECEPTION        315 

to  manage  it  grandly,  to  make  it  go  with  a  swing,  or  it 
was  to  court  failure." 

"  Madam,"  he  said  dully,  from  where  he  stood  by  the 
window ;  "  I  would  not  gainsay  you  in  anything  that 
made  for  the  Lady  Philida's  good.  God  knows,  I'd 
grant  her  all  that  lies  within  my  giving  and  count  it  an 
unworthy  gift." 

He  felt  hopeless,  enmeshed  in  nets  of  the  duchess* 
weaving,  committed  to  a  position  in  which  he  saw  his 
honour  involved  so  deep  that  a  solution  of  the  difficulty 
and  an  escape  from  it  did  not  rise  to  his  mind.  Still, 
as  he  listened  to  her,  he  was  searching  for  such  an  escape 
subconsciously,  and  with  a  mind  rendered  less  alert  by 
the  anguish  through  which  it  had  been  passing. 

At  his  last  words,  the  duchess  sprang  to  her  feet  with 
an  exclamation  of  triumph. 

"  Spoke  like  a  Gower!  "  she  cried.  "  La,  we  will  give 
them  something  to  talk  about.  Such  a  ball  as  was  never 
seen  before.  I  have  told  Philida  of  it." 

This  brought  him  round,  face  to  face,  with  her.  Be- 
neath the  cold  hopelessness  into  which  he  had  sunken, 
anger  began  to  rise. 

"  Philida,"  he  echoed,  "you  have  told  Philida?" 

"Why  not  Philida?"  she  said,  "when  I've  told  half 
the  town.  I  protest,  Yerington,  I  thought  you  a  man 
of  spirit.  You  know  the  town,  and  yet  the  veriest  coun- 
try squire  would  not  need  to  have  it  pressed  upon  him 
that  this  thing  must  go  with  a  dash.  I  had  to  give  them 
something  and  of  a  flavour  suited  to  their  palates;  make 
them  gossip  after  my  taste.  I've  told  them  'tis  to  be  held 
in  the  ballroom  of  Grangely  House.  I've  named  the 
musicians,  I've  described  the  minuets,  and  who  was  to 
lead  off  in  them.  I've  told  of  the  lights  upon  the  lawn, 
I've  hinted  at  the  refreshments,  and  drawn  graphic  pic- 
tures of  the  decorations.  Lud,  Yerington,  you  know  I'm 


316  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

not  one  to  do  things  by  halves.  Philida,  the  dear  child, 
is  mad  with  joy  about  it.  You  know  she's  scarce  seen  the 
town." 

At  her  last  words  Yerington  suppressed  an  oath  and 
began  a  troubled  pacing  of  the  room,  while  the  duchess' 
eyes  followed  him,  amazed  at  his  manner.  He  ran  his 
hand  through  his  hair;  he  endeavoured  to  think  out  a 
clear  course  fbr  himself  in  the  face  of  this  position  to 
which  the  duchess  had  committed  him.  He  felt  he  had 
been  a  mere  puppet  in  the  dance  of  circumstance.  He 
did  not  seek  to  depreciate  the  extent  to  which  he  had 
himself  been  to  blame.  He  had,  in  fact,  created  the  situa- 
tion upon  which  the  duchess'  overanxiety  had  turned  the 
key.  He  was  seeking  an  exit  from  it.  His  mind  de- 
vised one  plan  after  another,  only  to  dismiss  them  with  a 
groan.  If,  indeed,  Philida's  reputation  were  entangled  in 
the  affair,  how  was  he  to  seek  «dt  from  it  without  com- 
mitting her  further  to  a  compromising  position?  He 
could  have  groaned  aloud  as  he  reviewed  the  consider- 
ations. 

The  duchess  perceived  that  something  was  seriously 
wrong,  and  for  the  second  time  that  morning,  a  doubt 
of  her  own  policy  entered  her  mind.  The  cherry-col- 
oured netting  lay  unheeded  upon  the  floor;  the  spaniels 
in  vain  coaxed  her  for  a  caress;  she  watched  Lord  Yer- 
ington, divided  between  an  inclination  towards  dismay 
and  indignation. 

Then  a  new  factor  entered  the  field  which  completely 
routed  all  the  forces  he  had  been  desperately  seeking  to 
gather  and  array  against  the  circumstances  which  faced 
him.  His  thoughts  had  been  vague  and  disordered ;  logic 
had  deserted  him;  but  he  had  been  battling  past  this 
point  and  seeking  to  bring  something  like  reason  from 
the  chaos. 

A  movement  at  the  door  roused  him  from  his  abstrac- 


tion.  He  turned  and  perceived  that  Philida  had  entered. 
How  could  he  reason  now,  when  love  and  longing  took 
the  field  against  his  scattered  forces?  She  paused,  visi- 
bly trembling,  unusually  pale,  wholly  betwitching  in  the 
added  appeal  of  her  weakness.  His  eyes  sprung  out  to 
hers  hungrily,  caught  the  trembling  star  within  them, 
formed  half  of  laughter  and  half  of  tears. 

His  battle  was  lost. 

In  an  instant  he  was  upon  his  knees  before  her,  his  lips 
upon  her  hand,  all  the  issues  blurred  and  forgotten  in  the 
leap  and  passion  of  his  love. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

LONDON   TOWN 

"  Well,"  says  she,  "  and  don't  you  like  the  World  ?  I  hear 
it  was  very  clever  last  Thursday." 

— HORACE  WALPOLE. 

THE  weeks  that  followed  were  trying  ones  to  Lord  Yer- 
ington.  The  duchess  had  promptly  transplanted  Philida 
to  London.  An  old  friend  had  put  a  house  there  at  her 
disposal.  It  was  in  Piccadilly,  set  amid  large  gardens. 

The  milliner  came  and  went,  and  Philida  suffered  her- 
self to  be  measured  and  fitted;  at  moments  childishly 
happy  in  the  prospect  of  new  gorgeousness ;  at  other  mo- 
ments absent  and  almost  impatient  of  it. 

As  the  days  sped,  the  girl  seemed  to  cling  to  Sybil  with 
a  growing  persistence  that  gave  the  duchess,  despite  her 
many  occupations,  a  jealous  pang. 

They  supported  numerous  visits  of  ceremony,  and  often 
the  carriages  and  chairs  before  their  doors  almost  blocked 
the  way. 

The  Duchess  of  Marlborough  eyed  Philida  through  her 
quizzing-glass,  as  the  girl  stood  curtseying  before  her. 

"  La,  Mary,"  she  said,  "  you  should  have  been  a  gen- 
eral. You  manage  your  forces  most  effectively.  '  Strike 
at  once,'  you  say,  '  take  the  enemy  off  guard,  and  don't 
waste  strength  on  long  marches.'  You  ended  this  cam- 
paign, I'll  be  bound,  before  Yerington  could  say  it  was 
begun." 

The  duchess  prepared  her  most  impeccable  smile. 

"  Though  the  Churchills  may  be  famous  for  long  cam- 
paigns, Sarah,"  she  replied,  "  I've  yet  to  learn  that  short 
ones  are  an  evidence  of  bad  faith." 

318 


LONDON    TOWN  319 

It  was  a  shrewd  lunge  at  the  late  duke's  tactics,  and 
Lady  Hervey,  who  was  calling  at  the  time,  took  pains  to 
spread  it,  together  with  a  vivid  picture  of  her  Grace  of 
Marlborough's  blank  stare,  as  she  stood  glaring,  impotent 
to  reply.  These  dames  had  crossed  swords  again,  and,  as 
usual,  it  was  not  the  Duchess  of  Croome  who  came  off 
second  best. 

Lord  Yerington  paid  his  respects  at  proper  intervals, 
but  the  intercourse  between  Philida  and  himself  increased 
in  constraint.  They  were  drifting  further  and  further 
out  of  touch  with  one  another.  The  formalities  of  that 
age,  as  extreme  as  its  licence,  prevented  this  being  ob- 
servable to  outsiders,  and  the  duchess  was  determined  to 
hold  Philida  wTith  a  firm  hand.  She  had  had  enough  of 
that  young  lady's  independence,  and  resolved  not  to  relax 
her  vigilance  until  Yerington  himself  became  responsible 
for  her.  She  still  held  back  the  news  of  the  girl's  in- 
heritance in  deference  to  her  entreaties  and  to  her  own 
promise,  but  at  moments  it  trembled  upon  the  tip  of  her 
tongue. 

When  at  last  news  of  it  did  leak  out,  it  came  from  an 
unexpected  source. 

As  the  days  passed,  Yerington  grew  more  miserable. 
His  views  had  always  been  clear  cut,  when  he  had  troubled 
himself  to  formulate  them  definitely.  Now  he  felt,  as 
he  looked  back,  that  he  should  have  explained  his  position 
to  the  duchess  on  the  day  of  his  return  after  Philida's  un- 
fortunate experience  with  Lady  Caroline,  and  then  have 
left  the  duchess  to  act  as  she  thought  wisest.  Now,  hour 
by  hour,  and  day  by  day,  he  became  more  hopelessly  com- 
mitted to  his  dissimulating  role,  and  his  contempt  for 
himself  grew  as  his  passion  for  Philida  increased.  He 
assented  to  the  duchess'  plans  for  the  ball,  even  giving 
his  assent  to  the  list  of  guests,  which  she  went  through 
the  mere  form  of  handing  to  him  for  approval.  At  each 


320  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

step  of  the  way  he  told  himself  that  he  had  gone  so  far, 
of  what  avail  to  stop  here?  Furthermore,  the  duchess 
had  so  entangled  the  situation  that  he  could  not  clearly 
see  what  course  would  compromise  Philida  the  least. 
Unconsciously,  she  tempted  him  on  and  confused  the 
clearness  of  his  reason. 

He  avoided  his  friends  at  the  coffee-houses,  and  began 
systematically  to  arrange  his  affairs.  His  melancholy  and 
abstraction  made  him  the  butt  of  the  town.  Captain 
Elliot  was  now  so  completely  in  the  toils  of  Mistress 
Armytage,  that  he  gave  less  heed  than  usual  to  his  friend's 
moods,  and  lumped  them  all  to  the  account  of  master 
Cupid. 

Now,  into  this  vortex  of  divided  impulses  and  conflict- 
ing feelings,  another  element  was  introduced.  A  young 
soldier,  a  Captain  Darlington,  had  recently  returned  from 
a  sojourn  in  America.  He  was  a  son  of  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  duchess',  who  presented  him  to  Philida,  and 
encouraged  him  to  frequent  calls.  He  was  a  simple,  true- 
hearted  lad  and  his  blue  eyes  looked  out  of  his  face  with 
a  winning  directness.  He  was  soon  fetching  and  carry- 
ing for  Philida,  her  slave  and  humble  adorer. 

Yerington  watched  this  friendship  with  growing  dis- 
quiet. He  saw  that  when  in  Captain  Darlington's  so- 
ciety, her  eyes  danced,  and  that  she  was  full  of  a  thou- 
sand witcheries  which  he  himself  had  known  in  Mistress 
Marjorie,  but  which  she  now  reserved  for  this  lad  only. 
To  him  she  was  grave,  even  embarrassed,  avoiding  him 
when  it  could  be  accomplished  without  creating  comment. 

And  so  to  Lord  Yerington's  perplexities  was  added  the 
bite  of  a  fierce  jealousy. 

Mansur's  path  and  his  own  crossed  more  than  once. 

That  worthy  had  changed.  His  brilliant  smile  still 
played  mechanically  upon  his  lips,  but  in  his  heart  he  car- 
ried a  consuming  anger  that  blanched  his  face,  and  he  had 


LONDON    TOWN  321 

lost  a  stone's  weight  within  the  fortnight.  Worsted  on 
every  hand,  he  began  to  harbour  a  hatred  of  Yerington  so 
furious  that  in  intensity  it  matched  his  love  for  Philida. 
His  life-long  craving  for  recognition  grew  like  an  ap- 
petite,— became  a  consuming  thirst.  This  was  more  pro- 
nounced because,  without  the  stimulus  of  Yerington's 
support,  the  members  of  White's  made  less  disguise  of 
their  contempt  for  him,  and  the  invitations  with  which 
he  had  been  favoured  grew  fewer. 

The  apex  of  his  exasperation  was  reached  one  night 
at  Ranelagh,  when  Lady  Caroline  Dashwood  cut  him 
with  finish  and  aplomb.  He  was  walking  round  the 
Rotunda,  and  she  looked  down  from  her  box,  where  she 
was  entertaining  a  party  of  friends.  Her  eye  wandered 
to  him  and  past  him.  Nobody  but  a  woman  of  the 
world,  and  a  hardened  one,  could  have  accomplished  the 
deed  with  such  varnished  perfection.  Her  transcendent 
assurance  maddened  him,  the  more  so  as  he  knew  he  was 
helpless  against  it.  They  were  both  in  the  same  boat, 
and  so  mutually  innocuous  to  one  another.  He  could 
hear  her  laugh  as  he  passed,  and  his  very  neck  grew 
crimson  with  fury.  As  these  slights  accumulated,  the 
determination  strengthened  to  revenge  them  one  and  all 
upon  Yerington.  This  had  long  since  been  his  design, 
it  now  became  an  obsession.  He  began  spying  about  for 
means  to  entangle  him  and,  bit  by  bit,  the  requisite  knowl- 
edge came  to  him.  Such  information  does  seem  to  drift 
to  eavesdroppers,  leaving  honest,  unsuspecting  minds  to 
become  their  victims. 

Mansur  was  calling  one  day  upon  his  solicitor,  who 
received  him  in  his  private  room.  From  this  the  latter 
gentleman  was  hastily  summoned  during  his  visit.  An 
open  letter  lay  upon  the  table.  His  proclivities  drew 
Mr.  Mansur's  eyes  towards  it.  A  moment  later  he  had 
read  it  eagerly.  When  Mr.  Crookshanks,  the  solicitor, 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

returned,  Mr.  Mansur  was  critically  inspecting  a  print 
of  Hogarth's  "  Enraged  Musician,"  that  hung  upon  the 
wall  some  distance  from  the  desk.  But  as  he  stood  there, 
the  tiny  dimples  were  coming  and  going  about  his  mouth. 
He  was  excited  almost  beyond  his  power  to  conceal. 

He  now  felt  that  he  had  Lord  Yerington  at  his  mercy, 
but  amid  the  whirling  plans  that  that  thought  brought 
to  him,  one  revenge,  poor  and  inadequate,  took  pre- 
dominance. It  was  in  response  to  his  smarting  vanity. 
Lord  Yerington  should  cross  swords  with  him  as  with  an 
equal.  Day  after  day  he  practised  with  his  small  sword, 
training  eye  and  wrist. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  WOMAN'S    HEART 

Time  and  chance  are  but  a  tide — 

Ha,   ha !    the   wooing   o't ! 
Slighted  love  is  sair  to  bide-^- 

Ha,  ha !  the  wooing  o't. 

— ROBERT  BURNS. 

IT  was  the  evening  of  the  ball. 

Sybil  Armytage,  dressed  for  conquest,  stood  humming 
to  herself,  one  slender,  white  satin-clad  foot  extended 
towards  the  flames  that  leapt  up  on  the  hearth.  She  was 
not  in  the  best  of  humours,  and  it  may  be  that  the  gay 
little  refrain  that  she  was  singing  was  intended  to  con- 
ceal this  fact  even  from  herself. 

Captain  Hugh  Elliot  had  been  commanded  to  attend 
the  King,  and,  therefore,  he  was  not  to  be  one  of  Lord 
Yerington's  guests.  Yet,  if  Sybil's  mirror  could  have 
comforted  her,  she  should  have  been  well  satisfied,  for 
she  had  never  looked  more  beautiful.  Her  hair  was 
puffed  high  about  a  gilded  coach  and  four  in  effigy,  which 
careered  across  her  dainty  head.  Her  patches  were 
placed  to  admiration,  and  her  hooped  skirt,  with  its  great 
ramping  flowers,  swept  far  about  her.  She  was  wonder- 
ing at  Philida's  delay  when  she,  with  a  gay  little  laugh, 
darted  into  the  room.  Mistress  Armytage  turned  to  her 
and  uttered  an  exclamation ;  then  raised  her  hands  in  an 
ecstasy  as  much  real  as  affected. 

Philida  glanced  up  shyly  at  her  from  beneath  her 
lashes,  questioning,  and  yet,  withal,  not  ill  pleased  with 
herself.  She  was  dressed  entirely  in  white,  her  neck  bare 
and  the  bodice  of  her  dress  sewn  with  pearls.  Her  hair 

323 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

was  arranged  much  as  usual  in  soft  curls,  meshed  at  the 
crown  in  a  pearl  net.  She  was  an  entrancing  picture 
and,  for  that  evening,  at  least,  she  was  aware  of  it. 

"  Am  I  in  face,  to-night?  "  she  questioned  with  girlish 
need  of  reassurance. 

"  Lud !  "  ejaculated  her  friend,  "  I  protest  I  could  not 
have  done  better  myself." 

The  younger  girl  responded  with  a  deep  curtsey,  and 
then  began  circling  about. 

"  Like  you  my  gown  ?  "  she  questioned,  looking  anx- 
iously down  at  it  over  one  shoulder. 

"Like  it?"  echoed  Sybil,  "I  am  ravished.  Your 
dress  falls  off  your  hips  like  a  frosted  Christmas  cake." 

"  And  my  patches?  I've  never  worn  them  before, 
and  they  feel  monstrous  sticky.  Do  they  brighten  my 
eyes,  think  you  ?  " 

She  was  answered  with  a  burst  of  laughter. 

"  La,  hear  her  rattle !  Oh,  Cupid,  you  sad  rogue,  how 
you  do  rout  this  virtuous  cult,  simplicity.  See  what 
comes  of  your  poses,  and  your  flannels  for  old  women, 
and  your  herbs  for  rheumatism.  But  Cupid,  the  rascal," 
she  held  up  an  arch,  taunting  ringer,  "  knew  the  truth 
all  the  time.  Bless  the  black  heart  of  him !  " 

Philida  began  to  step  a  minuet  with  an  imaginary 
partner. 

"  Do  I  know  my  steps?"  she  besought  as  she  con- 
tinued circling  and  curtseying,  coquetting  with  her  fan 
and  casting  exaggerated,  languishing  glances,  while  Sybil 
applauded  to  the  echo. 

"  I  protest.  The  very  pink  of  dancers!  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  But  why  are  you  so  set  upon  perfecting  these  graces?  " 

"La!"  returned  Philida,  half  pouting,  "how  could  I 
but  care  to-night  with  half  of  London  to  mark  me? 
And  the  women  to  watch  my  steps  and  say  '  Little  coun- 
try wench,  I  vow  she  is  a  fright!  What  can  he  see  in 


A    WOMAN'S    HEART  325 

her?'  And  she  raised  her  hand  to  suggest  a  quizzing- 
glass  before  her  eye. 

"Ay,"  responded  Mistress  Armytage  complacently, 
"  so  they  will  say  it ;  and  the  more  they  say  it,  take  it 
to  thyself  the  greater  the  compliment.  Faith,  your  rustic 
breeding  shows  in  that.  Who  heeds  the  women?  For 
the  truth  about  thyself  go  to  the  men,  and  then  'tis  not 
their  tongues  but  their  eyes  that  tell  it.  And  for  to- 
night," she  added  solemnly,  "  mend  your  ways  toward 
Yerington.  Upon  my  life,  I  could  box  your  ears  when 
I  see  you  sit  beside  him  with  your  wide,  shy  eyes." 

Something  in  this  last  observation  cut  Philida  deeper 
than  she  suspected.  Her  cheeks  reddened,  and  her  pride 
moved  her  to  spar  in  her  turn. 

"  Lud,  my  eyes  are  made  to  match  those  of  your  Cap- 
tain Elliot,"  she  said,  "  with  his  solemn  face.  Nature 
was  in  no  smiling  mood  when  she  fashioned  him." 

"  The  impudent  little  wench,"  cried  Sybil,  colouring 
high  beneath  her  rouge.  "  Captain  Hugh,  indeed !  A 
great,  hulking  Scotchman !  " 

Philida  laughed  mischievously  and  evaded  a  blow  from 
Sybil's  vengeful  fan. 

"  Your  anger  will  not  serve  you,"  she  mocked,  danc- 
ing about  the  room  to  avoid  her  pursuing  friend.  "  His 
words  come  as  slowly  as  honey  in  the  winter.  Oh,  and 
oh,  the  ways  and  tricks  of  you!  And  directly  you've 
wounded  him  into  the  sulks,  then  you  go  about  all  sighs 
and  heavy  looks  until  it  suits  his  majesty  to  smile  again, 
that  you  again  may  torture  him." 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  protested  Sybil,  stamping  with  passion, 
"  I'll  swear  it  is  not  true!  " 

"  And,"  continued  Philida,  with  an  elaborate  curtsey, 
"  and  he  only  a  stupid  dolt  of  a  soldier,  with  not  a 
single  compliment  in  his  equipment  and  scarce  an  anec- 
dote in  his  armoury." 


326  A'  DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

This  stung  Sybil  too  far.  She  turned  about  with 
flashing  eyes. 

"How  dare  you?"  she  asked.  "He's  no  feather- 
brain, that  I  promise  you,  as  is  some  one  I  could  name,  if 
I  had  not  too  much  courtesy.  But  he's  a  man,  a  true, 
honourable,  brave  man.  I'm  surfeited  with  compliments 
and  coffee-house  wit  that  has  been  laboriously  rehearsed 
before  the  mirror  ere  it  is  ventured  on  in  public.  As  for 
words — the  devil  but  invented  them  that  we  might  better 
hide  the  truth  from  one  another." 

She  stood  biting  her  lips,  the  rare  tears  shining  in  her 
eyes.  In  an  instant  Philida  was  all  penitence. 

"  Dear,"  she  whispered,  "  do  not  seek  to  hide  your 
heart  from  me.  Believe  me,  I  love  you  for  this,  and  I 
love  him,  thy  Captain,  for  another's  sake.  You  know  it 
well." 

Sybil's  secret  had  been  surprised  from  her,  and  she 
did  not  soften  immediately  to  the  proffered  caresses. 

Philida  took  her  hands  in  hers. 

"  Come,"  she  coaxed,  "  I  prithee,  dear,  put  off  thy 
frown.  Let  us  sit  here  by  the  fire.  Remember  this 
is  my  first  ball,  and  I  have  much  need  of  thy  counsel- 
ling." 

But  her  friend  would  not  be  mollified.     • 

"  Need,   indeed/'   she  echoed,   "  you  have  put  me   in 
mood  to  give  you  advice,  methinks.     You  have  spoiled 
my  whole  evening  with  '  your  this '  and  '  your  that,  ' 
and  she  gave  an  imitation  of  Philida's  teasing  manner. 

"  Ah,  no,  dearest,  don't  tell  me  that,"  besought  the 
younger  girl.  "  I  could  not  bear  it.  My  own  heart  is 
heavy  enough.  I  could  not  be  happy  with  the  knowledge 
that  I  had  wounded  thee." 

"  Not  happy,"  exclaimed  Sybil,  opening  her  eyes  in 
surprise,  "  after  such  mad  capers,  you  tell  me  that !  " 

Philida  nodded  her  curls  with  a  wistful  smile. 


A    WOMAN'S    HEART 

"  Do  not  we  women  early  learn  to  hide  our  hearts, 
even  beneath  such  capers  ?  "  she  asked,  softly. 

"  But  you,"  said  Sybil,  half  resentfully,  "  to  talk  of 
heavy  hearts  now,  with  all  the  town  envying  you ;  with  a 
ball  given  to-night  in  your  honour;  and  one  of  the 
greatest  catches  in  England  dangling  on  your  hook."  Her 
lips  began  to  quiver.  "  You  are  hard  to  please,  forsooth." 

This  contrast  with  her  own  lot  that  evening,  over- 
whelmed her  with  a  brief  but  tempestuous  grief.  She 
had  parted  with  Captain  Elliot  in  anger.  He  would 
not  be  there  to  note  her  charms,  and  to  be  won  again 
to  her  feet.  She  flung  herself,  suddenly,  face  downward 
on  the  settle,  regardless  of  her  rouge,  or  her  carefully 
dressed  hair. 

'  'Tis  very  well  to  make  up  to  me,  now  that  you've 
spoiled  my  evening,"  she  cried,  withdrawing  herself,  pet- 
tishly, from  the  caresses.  "And  here  is  my  dress  from 
Paris  and  my  new  shoe-buckles,  all  wasted;  and  now 
my  hair  and  my  complexion  are  ruined  too.  I  hate  thy 
ball,  and  thy  Lord  Yerington." 

To  her  surprise  Philida,  the  forgiving,  made  no  reply 
to  this  outburst.  For  a  few  moments  Sybil  lay  wonder- 
ing at  the  silence.  At  length  overcome  by  curiosity,  she 
stole  a  look  through  her  fingers.  Then  in  her  surprise, 
she  forgot  her  own  vexation,  and  sat  up. 

Her  friend  had  evidently  forgotten  her. 

Philida  was  seated  on  the  hearth-rug,  the  firelight  play- 
ing over  her  and  shining  on  the  satin  of  her  gown.  Sybil 
gazed,  half-awed  by  what  she  saw.  The  mask  of  roguish 
gaiety  was  dropped  and  here,  indeed,  was  sadness.  It  was 
revealed  in  the  pathetic  droop  of  the  lips  and  in  the 
dreaming  depths  of  her  eyes.  The  older  girl  felt  sud- 
denly ashamed  of  her  own  recent  tempest.  It  seemed 
so  slight  and  poor  a  thing  in  the  face  of  this  unspeak- 
ing  sorrow. 


A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

As  she  watched,  the  fire  sputtered  and  leapt  up,  and 
the  little  group  before  it  was  pictured  and  re-pictured 
in  the  shining  oval  mirrors  decorating  the  ceiling,  where 
they  appeared  but  distorted,  as  we  often  do  in  the  un- 
tempered  observation  of  our  friends. 

At  length  Sybil  put  forth  a  timid  hand  and  shyly 
touched  the  musing  girl. 

Philida  was  recalled  from  her  dreamland  with  a 
startled  sigh,  and  then  smiled  again  her  sweet  transform- 
ing smile;  but  her  friend  now  had  seen  beyond  it. 

"  Dear  heart,"  she  questioned  softly,  "  what  are  you 
seeing  in  those  flames?" 

The  younger  girl  gave  a  little  shiver  and  then  turned 
a  wistful,  patient  face  in  answer. 

"  I  scarce  know  what  I  see,"  hardly  above  a  whisper. 
"  At  times,  dear,  my  too  few  years  prison  me." 

"  Silly,"  answered  Sybil,  her  mood  all  softness  now, 
"  'tis  more  like  they'll  prison  thee  as  they  multiply. 
They'll  be  just  new  bars  to  the  cage.  Don't  sigh  over 
that." 

But  Philida  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  so  ignorant,  so  ignorant,"  she  came  in  sudden 
self-confession  to  the  thought  nearest  her  heart.  "  How 
can  I  hope  to  hold  him, — I  who  know  not  even  so  much 
as  why  he  thought  he  fancied  a  little  know-nothing  like 
me." 

"  Lud !  "  exclaimed  Mistress  Armytage ;  "  don't  be 
humble  in  Heaven's  name.  These  patient  Griseldas  were 
made  to  lose  men,  and  they  deserved  it  soundly." 

The  younger  girl  smiled  up  at  her  friend,  a  smile  full 
of  her  own  gentle  wisdom. 

"  Methinks,  Sybil,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  with  a 
touch  of  her  former  roguishness,  "  though  thy  Captain 
may  sometimes  be  miserable,  'tis  little  like  that  he'll  be 
dull." 


A    WOMAN'S    HEART  329 

"Your  Yerington,"  flashed  back  Sybil,  "will  be  far 
happier  than  he  deserves,  the  graceless  rake.  He's  be- 
hind this  mood,  I'll  be  bound." 

Philida  shrank  from  her,  blushing. 

"And  what  if  he  be?      Twould  be  no  fault  of  his." 

"  Of  course  not,"  responded  the  wily  Sybil.  "  But 
what  is  the  trouble,  child  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  burst  out  Philida,  the  sorrow  she  had  been 
smothering  for  weeks,  overflowing  into  open  expression 
at  last.  "  Sometimes  I  fear  he  loves  me  not  at  all." 

The  other  threw  up  amazed,  cynical  hands. 

"  Doesn't  love  thee !"  she  ejaculated. 

For  a  moment  she  turned  the  thought  over  in  her 
shrewd  mind  and  ended  the  silence  by  the  smart  tap  of 
her  fan  upon  her  companion's  shoulder. 

"Little  fool,  why  then  does  he  marry  thee?  Half  of 
England  has  angled  for  him,  and  yet  he  chose  you,  you 
little  pauper.  What  better  proof  do  you  want,  that 
he  loves  you  ?  " 

This  worldly  verdict  left  Philida  unmoved.  She 
turned  away  her  face,  till  Sybil  could  only  see  the  round 
of  her  cheek. 

"  But  he  is  so  cold,  so  distant.  I  might  be  her  Grace 
of  Marlborough,  such  punctilious  kisses  does  he  press 
upon  my  finger-tips." 

Sybil's  brown  eyes  widened. 

"Never  your  lips?"  she  gasped. 

In  an  agony  of  embarrassment,  Philida  shook  her  head 
in  the  negative. 

"  Does  he  never  make  occasion,"  persisted  her  friend, 
"to  squeeze  thy  waist  when  none  are  by?" 

The  younger  girl's  head  drooped,  until  her  curls  fell 
about  her  face,  and  a  soft  little  sob  alone  replied. 

"The  iceberg!  "  cried  Sybil,  springing  indignantly  to 
her  feet,  "the  salamander!  I'll  not  believe  it." 


330  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Oh,  don't,  you  hurt  me,"  besought  Philida,  her 
voice  full  of  pain. 

No  thought  of  ball-dress  or  disarranged  curls  now. 
Mistress  Armytage  forgot  herself  as  she  flew  across  the 
room  to  take  the  supple  figure  by  the  hearth  in  an  im- 
petuous embrace. 

"  Oh,  my  pretty,  pretty  one,  weeping,  and  on  the 
night  of  your  first  ball.  Yerington  will  answer  for  this 
to  me.  Surely  there's  more  here  than  we  know,  or  " — 
a  sudden  flash  of  inspiration.  "  I'll  be  bound  you've 
been  too  kind  to  him.  'Tis  ever  so  with  men.  Did  I 
make  Elliot  a  whit  less  miserable  he'd  straight  find  new 
diversion  in  his  cards,  or  his  wine,  or  the  devil  knows 
what." 

"  Nay,"  cried  Philida,  pushing  her  friend  away  from 
her,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  her  aroused  pride.  "  I'll 
warrant  I  made  no  occasion  for  tete-a-tete,  and  though 
I  am  new  to  town,  men's  eyes  have  told  me  I'd  not  have 

to    mourn    long    if "    she    could    not    finish.     Her 

arms  were  about  Sybil's  neck  and  her  head  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"Oh,  what  avail  are  words,  what  avail  is  pride?  I 
love  him;  that  is  all  I  know.  Can  I  reason  about  it?  I 
can  only  feel  and  fear.  I've  stood  aside  and  marked 
him.  He  sorrows,  Sybil.  I  have  seen  shadows  fall 
across  his  face  and  hollows  grow  beneath  his  eyes,  and 
I've  whispered  to  myself:  '  My  love  suffers.  He  has 
troubles.  You  are  young  and  not  wise,  but,  bye  and 
bye,  if  you  are  patient  he  will  confide  in  you.'  But,  I 
cannot  always  be  patient.  I  have  waited,  and  my  heart 
has  grown  heavier.  I've  laughed  all  day  with  people's 
eyes  upon  me,  and  cried  all  night  at  memory  of  his 
face." 

She  sobbed  brokenly,  clinging  to  her  friend. 

Sybil's  usual  ready  counsel  deserted  her.     She  stroked 


A    WOMAN'S    HEART  331 

the  head  upon  her  shoulder  in  silence.  Here  was  trouble 
that  she  could  not  heal,  and  for  which  her  experience 
furnished  her  no  key. 

So  they  sat  clasped  in  one  another's  arms  while  the 
coaches  began  to  rumble  past  to  Grangely  House. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

A    MENACE 

For  a  little  mind  courteth  notoriety  to  illustrate  its  puny 
self. 

— TUPPER. 

THE  hour  for  the  arrival  of  guests  at  Grangely  House 
had  almost  come. 

Every  device  that  the  duchess  could  conjure  from  the 
depth  of  her  invention  had  been  employed  to  give  dis- 
tinction to  the  entertainment.  The  garden  facing  upon 
the  Mall  was  lined  with  myriads  of  lamps  of  every 
colour,  set  in  designs.  Grangely  House  was  a  bower  of 
flowers.  They  lined  the  halls,  the  great  staircase,  the 
numerous  reception-rooms,  and  the  ballroom. 

The  preparations  were  now  completed,  except  for  the 
lighting.  Footmen  appeared  carrying  candelabra.  These 
lackeys  were  under  the  command  of  a  dignified  major- 
domo,  bearing  his  white  wand  of  authority.  By  his 
orders,  the  footmen  added  these  candelabra  to  the  al- 
ready sufficient  light  shed  from  the  candle-trimmed  cut- 
glass  chandeliers.  These  extra  candles  were  for  the 
card-players,  and  were  set  carefully  upon  each  table, 
where  also  lay  several  unopened  packs  of  cards.  It  was 
not  to  be  supposed  that  the  courtly  gentlemen  and 
dames  defaced  the  cards  with  any  imprints  that  might 
influence  their  play,  but  deep  play  was  universal  at  that 
day,  and  this  custom  of  an  occasional  change  of  cards, 
prevailed. 

Yerington  had  chosen  a  coat  of  pale  blue  velvet  and 
a  white  waistcoat  laced  in  silver.  His  lhair  was  carefully 

sat 


A    MENACE  338 

dressed  and  powdered,  his  face  patched  to  Mr.  Jenkins' 
complete  satisfaction.  His  waistcoat  was  fastened  only 
at  the  waist  by  two  buttons  of  diamonds  and  over  this 
flowed  a  cascade  of  priceless  lace.  He  wore  his  riband 
and  star.  The  black  knot  which  tied  his  hair  was  the 
one  note  of  sombre  colour  in  his  costume. 

When  Jenkins  had  finished  him  that  evening,  he  had 
been  moved  to  something  like  outspoken  enthusiasm. 

"  Your  lordship  might  be  dressed  for  a  wedding." 

Yerington  tapped  the  lid  of  his  snuff-box,  and  stood 
looking  before  him.  There  arose  in  his  mind  the  vision 
of  Philida,  as  she  would  appear  as  a  bride.  He  made 
no  response  to  Mr.  Jenkins'  observation. 

His  toilet  completed,  he  went  slowly  through  the 
brilliantly  lighted,  empty  rooms.  The  house  was  per- 
vaded by  that  peculiar  sense  of  expectancy  which  hangs 
in  the  air  of  apartments  prepared  for,  but  still  await- 
ing guests.  As  Yerington  went,  he  saw  his  figure  re- 
flected and  rereflected  back  from  numberless  mirrors. 
In  the  mood  which  then  possessed  him,  this  multiplica- 
tion of  himself  became  an  annoyance.  He  was  pecul- 
iarly conscious  to-night  of  his  isolation  and  of  the  fact 
that  he  represented  the  last  of  a  long  line.  Therefore, 
in  his  mind  somehow  these  mirrored  duplications  seemed 
to  him  like  silent,  ghostly  ancestors,  who  were  accom- 
panying him  through  the  deserted  rooms.  He  was  little 
given  to  nursing  superstitious  fancies,  and  yet  this  idea 
persisted  until  he  made  a  sudden  turn  to  avoid  these 
echoes  of  himself.  This  brought  him  abruptly  face  to 
face  with  a  gentleman,  whose  eyes  met  his  in  the 
gleaming  panel  of  a  door.  He  felt  worsted  as  he  looked 
back  at  him. 

"  My  Lord  Yerington/'  he  said  aloud,  "  I  know  not 
in  which  role  you  shine  the  better,  that  of  knave  or  fool, 
but  one  thing  I  do  know,"  the  eyes  gazing  into  his  be- 


834  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

came  more  resolute;  "after  to-night,  God  help  you,  you 
drift  no  more." 

There  was  a  step  upon  the  polished  floor,  and  he 
turned  with  a  start  to  face  one  of  his  lackeys.  The  man 
hastened  to  suppress  a  smile.  He  had  come  upon  Lord 
Yerington  unexpectedly,  gazing  with  interest  at  his  own 
reflection,  and  he  had  attributed  it  to  a  dandified  vanity. 

"  Mr.  Mansur  is  below  and  would  see  your  lord- 
ship," he  said. 

Lord  Yerington  hesitated  and  frowned.  Mr.  Man- 
sur had  been  included  in  his  invitation  for  that  evening 
in  no  spirit  of  retaliation,  for  he  had  grown  above  that 
attitude,  and  looked  back  upon  it  with  humiliation.  He 
had  included  him  because  not  to  have  done  so  would 
have  been  to  arouse  comment  which  he  sought  to  avoid. 
He  felt  instinctively  that  his  early  presence  there  boded 
no  good. 

"  Show  him  up,"  he  answered,  and  taking  his  stand 
behind  a  buhl  table,  he  waited. 

A  moment  later  Mansur  entered  the  room  with  a  sort 
of  abrupt  caution. 

Lord  Yerington  looked  at  him  keenly,  and  was  sur- 
prised at  the  change  in  him.  His  face  was  sallow,  his 
eyes  restless,  and  the  ready  smile  upon  his  lips  was  now 
a  sort  of  distortion  that  occasionally  escaped  his  control. 
There  was  the  same  expression  of  sketchiness  about  his 
features,  but  it  was  now  as  if  the  sketch  were  blurred. 
He  had  dressed  with  exceeding  care.  He  wore  a  cos- 
tume of  striped  yellow  and  black  silk,  his  black  hair 
faultlessly  arranged  and  powdered  grey.  He  looked  not 
unlike  a  wasp. 

Yerington,  ever  keenly  sensitive  to  any  antic  circum- 
stance, noted  this  comparison. 

Mr.  Mansur's  perception  of  the  humorous  rose  only 
to  a  vigorous  spur.  It  is  a  quality  an  adventurer  can  ill 


A    MENACE  335 

afford  to  dispense  with,  for  the  mellowing  mote  of 
laughter  is  the  surest  key  to  the  human  heart.  If  Knox 
and  Luther  had  possessed  it,  how  much  more  permeat- 
ing would  their  sympathy  have  been?  In  the  hand  of  a 
saint  or  a  sinner,  it  is  a  lamp  with  which  to  study  his 
fellowmen. 

From  his  place  behind  the  table,  Lord  Yerington 
bowed. 

"  My  first  guest,  Mr.  Mansur,"  he  said,  "  you  honour 
me." 

Despite  his  resolve,  a  taunt  crept  into  his  tone  at  the 
sight  of  his  visitor. 

Mr.  Mansur  drew  a  step  nearer. 

"  I  have  a  few  words  I  would  say  to  you  in  private. 
Are  we  alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Except  for  our  conscience,"  returned  Lord  Yerington. 

Again  the  suggestion  of  a  sneer  appeared.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  man  facing  him  roused,  despite  himself,  the 
worst  in  his  nature.  As  he  spoke,  he  rearranged  a  fold 
of  lace  with  exactitude. 

"  You  speak  lightly  of  your  conscience,"  jeered  Mr. 
Mansur. 

Lord  Yerington   took  out  his  snuff-box. 

"  May  I  offer  you  a  pinch  ?  "  he  said,  extending  it. 
"If  my  memory  does  not  deceive  me,  'tis  your  favour- 
ite mixture." 

Mr.  Mansur  put  aside,  the  jewelled  trifle  with  an 
exasperated  gesture. 

Yerington  returned  it  to  his  pocket  and  spoke  coldly. 

"  You  said,  a  moment  since,  you  had  a  word  to  say  to 
me  in  private.  I  must  remind  you  that  my  guests  will 
soon  be  arriving." 

A  trace  of  brutal  bluster  had  crept  into  Mr.  Man- 
sur's  manner,  and  he  advanced  threateningly  towards 
his  host.  When  he  spoke  his  voice  was  hoarse. 


836  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  You  insulted  me  a  fortnight  since  and  refused  to 
give  me  satisfaction,"  he  said. 

Yerington  thought  he  now  perceived  his  drift.  Man- 
sur  was  palpably  shaken  by  his  passion.  As  he  looked 
up  and  caught  Yerington's  regard,  coldly  watchful  and 
attentive,  it  threw  him  more  completely  from  any  in- 
tended reserve.  To-night  he  was  not  master  of  him- 
self. His  expressions  no  longer  came  and  went  like 
soldiers  at  the  order  of  an  exacting  officer.  He  blurted 
out  his  design,  bluntly. 

"  I've  come  here  to-night  to  fight  you.  I'm  deter- 
mined to  fight  you.  Give  me  satisfaction  at  once  and 
here." 

Lord  Yerington's  manner  became  more  reserved. 

"  Faith,  a  most  untimely  request,"  he  answered, 
speaking  softly.  "  Consider  how  it  might  inconvenience 
my  guests." 

"  Your  guests!  "  jeered  Mansur.  "  'Tis  not  courtesy, 
but  courage  you  are  lacking  in." 

His  words  contained  no  sting  for  Yerington.  The 
cold  patience  of  his  reply  told  Mr.  Mansur  this  more 
plainly  than  a  protest,  and  the  sense  of  his  impotence 
to  wound  swelled  the  tide  of  his  vanity  and  his  jeal- 
ousy. 

Lord  Yerington  spoke  again. 

"  I  am  host  to-night.  You  came  here  as  my  guest. 
Therefore,  I  can  only  say — It  is  a  charming  evening 
and  will  you  have  a  look  at  the  decorations  of  the  ball- 
room." 

The  crimson  flooded  Mr.  Mansur's  face,  and  his  words 
came  chokingly. 

"  A  subterfuge,   a  contemptible  subterfuge." 

He  made  a  threatening,  incautious  movement,  and  his 
foot  slipped  over  the  polished  floor. 

Lord  Yerington  eyed  him  with  concern. 


A    MENACE  337 

"  You  had  best  step  warily,"  he  suggested.  "  The 
parquetrie  is  newly  waxed." 

Mr.  Mansur  put  one  hand  upon  the  table  and  leaned 
forward. 

"  Will  you,"  he  asked,  as  one  who  makes  an  offer 
upon  which  much  depends,  and  which  he  is  determined 
not  to  repeat,  "  fight  me  to-night  and  now,  as  man  to 
man?" 

Lord  Yerington  looked  down  steadily  into  his  work- 
ing face.  The  despair  which  underlay  it,  he  guessed; 
he  felt  he  could  not  longer  pass  judgment  upon  its  du- 
plicity. The  ruin  of  his  life  in  which  he  had  involved 
Philida,  the  waiting  rooms  in  which  they  stood, — a 
theatre  arranged  for  another  scene  in  the  drama  of 
deceit, — forbade  that.  He  felt  that  he  had  sinned  be- 
yond forgiving,  though  he  had  been  pushed  on  by  con- 
ditions and  circumstances,  not  by  intentions.  He  was 
not  a  weak  man,  and  therefore  he  did  not  stoop  to  the 
meanness  of  self-excuses.  A  sort  of  pity  arose  within 
him  as  he  looked  at  Mansur's  inflamed  face. 

"  Believe  me,  Mansur,"  he  said,  a  tone  in  his  voice  in 
which  there  was  an  echo  of  the  old  friendliness,  "  it  is 
a  poor  thing,  this  revenge  that  you  are  seeking." 

Mansur  drew  himself  back  from  him. 

He  misread  Yerington,  as  it  was  inevitable  he  should 
misread  him,  and  it  increased  his  coarse  self-confi- 
dence. 

"  Ah ! "  he  cried,  "  a  new  tune  this.  Fight  me  to- 
night, or  you  will  learn  to  your  cost  that  it  is  I  who 
make  the  terms,  my  lord  pauper." 

He  was  replete  with  spite. 

"Did  you  think  you  could  bait  me  forever?"  he 
went  on.  "  Do  you  think  I  am  one  to  have  no  shots  in 
my  arsenal?  Why,  now  is  my  halcyon  time.  You've 
arranged  my  opportunity  for  me,  and  pray  accept  my 


A   DISCIPLE    OF   CHANCE 

most  profound  gratitude.  The  terms  are:  Fight  me  now 
and  let  me  prove  the  metal  of  my  sword  against  the  one 
it  pleases  your  lordship  to  carry  at  your  hip,  or — I'll 
expose  you  before  your  guests." 

No  such  contingency  had  occurred  to  Lord  Yering- 
ton.  The  shock  staggered  him,  but  he  answered  Man- 
sur's  challenge  without  flinching.  He  chose  the  first 
weapon  at  hand,  well  knowing  its  weakness,  as  he 
did  so. 

"  And  incidentally  reveal  yourself  a  villain,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Mansur  uttered  an  exclamation  of  contempt. 

"  I  have  proof  positive  that  the  money  was  invested 
at  your  request,  and  such  reckless  gambling,  whether  on 
'Change  or  with  cards  or  dice,  is  after  your  lordship's 
own  manner.  The  world  will  then  think  'twill  bear 
your  signature  upon  the  face  of  it.  Your  case  will 
scarce  be  a  good  one."  He  looked  up  with  a  cunning 
smile.  "  You,  a  man  whose  estates  are  forfeit  to  his 
creditors,  who,  if  the  truth  were  known,  would  have 
the  bailiffs  clamouring  at  his  doors." 

Every  shot  he  had  sent,  went  home.  Lord  Yerington 
registered  each  one  with  an  inward  twinge  of  his  spirit. 
But,  as  he  continued  to  listen,  his  mood  changed.  Mr. 
Mansur  had  gone  too  far.  His  recapitulation  of  the 
circumstances  in  which  Yerington  was  placed  had  re- 
awakened in  him  a  quality  which  had  been  lulled  to 
quiet  of  late.  This  was  his  habitual  gamester's  in- 
stinct of  indifference  and  of  trusting  to  chances.  He 
smiled  at  Mansur  with  a  touch  of  his  old  light-hearted 
insouciance,  who  noted  it  with  something  like  dismay. 
Then  he  determined  to  wipe  that  smile  away  by  throw- 
ing down  his  last  card,  the  one  he  had  been  treasuring. 

During  the  previous  portion  of  the  interview,  his 
assumed  air  of  gentility  had  shown  itself  to  be  woefully 
deficient.  His  emotions  had  run  away  with  him  and 


A    MENACE  339 

he  had  been  unable  to  maintain  the  air  of  polished  as- 
surance and  trifling  indifference,  attributes  of  the  dandy 
of  that  day,  which  he  usually  affected  with  considerable 
success.  Now,  however,  he  felt  he  was  treading  upon 
firm  ground.  His  mien  became  more  self-contained  as 
he  continued  to  speak. 

"  Would  a  pauper,  think  you,  be  easily  forgiven,  even 
within  the  charmed  circle  of  your  world  of  easy  morals, 
who  sought  to  retrieve  his  fallen  fortunes,  without  first 
confessing  them,  by  trapping  with  his  lies  one  of  the 
greatest  heiresses  in  England?  And  the  Lady  Philida  is 
rich." 

The  mere  audacity  of  the  statement  arrested  Lord 
Yerington's  attention.  He  felt  there  must  be  a  mead  of 
truth  in  it,  or  Mansur  would  never  have  ventured  it. 
This  possibility  overcame  him  so  far  that  he  responded 
with  a  contradiction. 

"The  Lady  Philida  an  heiress?"  he  said  incredu- 
lously. "  Such  a  statement  is  veriest  nonsense,  unless  a 
small  annuity  makes  her  one." 

Mr.  Mansur's  eyes  were  sparkling  triumphantly. 

"  You  play  your  part  well,"  he  drawled  insolently. 
"  But  do  you  think  you  can  persuade  me  that  you  did 
not  know  what  all  the  world  will  soon  know,  despite 
her  caprice  to  conceal  it?  Need  I  trouble  to  reiterate 
the  thought  doubtless  circulating  this  moment  in  your 
lordship's  mind,  that  Lady  Philida  has  inherited  a  great 
fortune  ?  " 

Lord  Yerington  turned  cold.  He  was  persuaded  of 
the  truth  of  this  statement,  contrary  as  it  was  to  all 
facts  as  he  knew  them.  But  Mansur  only  bet  on  cer- 
tainties and  a  full  hand.  It  took  but  an  instant  to  out- 
line within  his  mind  how  vile  a  creature  he  must  ap- 
pear, should  this  be  true.  Notwithstanding,  he  persisted 
in  putting  it  aside. 


840 

"  A   Midsummer   Night's   Dream,"   he  said. 

Mr.  Mansur  wheeled  around  on  a  contemptuous  heel. 

"  Don't  waste  your  play-acting  on  me.  You  know  my 
terms,"  he  remarked  as  he  turned. 

Yerington  watched  him.  He  was  telling  himself  how 
lately  he  had  said  that  life  for  him  could  possess  no 
more  surprises  and,  indeed,  as  Mansur  said,  his  case  was 
scarce  a  good  one.  A  record  of  an  unredeemed  pledge, 
of  double  dealing  with  a  woman  whom  he  loved,  and 
now  Mansur  was  pressing  him  that  he  might  be  denied 
the  dignity  of  an  explanation.  His  next  words  were 
wrung  from  him. 

"  One  promise  I  give  you,"  he  said,  with  stiff  lips, 
"the  Lady  Philida  Wentworth  shall  be  told  to-night 
all  that  there  is  to  tell." 

Mansur  had  conquered  him,  and  the  condescension 
of  this  confidence  from  Lord  Yerington  assured  him 
of  it.  He  turned  to  him,  filled  with  triumphant  malice. 

"  I  protest,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "  your  kindness  over- 
whelms me."  His  manner  put  Yerington's  last  hope  to 
flight.  '  'Tis  sweet  of  you,  on  my  word  it  is,  to  con- 
fess to  the  Lady  Philida.  Forsooth,  the  matter  goes 
purely."  Suddenly  his  manner  changed.  "  Of  myself 
I've  but  a  word  or  two  to  add.  The  time  of  your 
confession,  Lord  Yerington,  shall  be  of  my  choosing." 

He  had  now  reached  the  door.  He  turned  and  made 
a  slight  obeisance,  insulting  in  its  cool  nonchalance,  and 
then  he  went  out  into  the  hall,  walking  with  his  body 
inclined  slightly  forward,  flirting  his  handkerchief  af- 
fectedly. 

When  he  had  disappeared,  Lord  Yerington  reeled  for- 
ward and  caught  the  table  for  support.  He  was  still  in 
this  position  when  his  majordomo  entered  the  room. 

"  My  lord,  the  guests  are  beginning  to  arrive,"  he 
announced. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE   BALL 

Hi   narrata   ferunt   alio:   mensuraque   fici 
Crescit;  et  auditis  aliquid  novus  adjicit  auctor. 

— Ovro.  Met.  XII,  57. 

LORD  YERINGTON  had  no  design  in  his  mind  that  might 
serve  to  defeat  Mr.  Mansur's  purposes,  whatever  they 
might  be.  He  stood  upon  the  broad  staircase,  a  brilliant 
figure  with  his  star  and  orders,  smiling  a  courteous  wel- 
come to  all  who  came.  There  was  nothing  in  his  ap- 
pearance to  suggest  the  shadow  that  was  hovering  over 
him. 

Directly  behind  him  hung  a  portrait  of  his  great-grand- 
father, painted  by  Van  Dyck.  It  represented  a  man  with 
a  handsome  face,  full  of  charm  and  a  spirited  challenge 
of  life.  Below  this  pictured  ancestor  his  descendant 
stood,  with  a  smile  for  one  guest,  a  compliment  for  an- 
other, an  epigram  for  a  third.  Though  his  words  were 
ready,  his  thoughts  were  not.  At  that  moment  he  was 
unprepared  for  the  issues  which  might  lie  before  him,  and 
he  knew  it. 

When  Philida  approached  him  up  the  stairs,  with  a 
pretty  air  of  timidity,  he  was  conscious  of  her  coming 
to  the  centre  of  his  being,  though  at  that  moment  he  was 
assuring  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  that  he  had  a  table 
placed  for  him  where  the  boldest  breath  of  air  dared  not 
intrude. 

The  duchess  spoke  to  him,  but  he  failed  to  catch  her 
meaning.  Was  she  congratulating  him,  or  was  it  a  ques- 
tion she  asked  as  he  bent  over  her  hand?  He  answered 
wildly  and  at  random. 

341 


342          'A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Philida  was  coming!  Philida, — shyness  dyeing  her 
cheeks  a  deeper  pink  than  usual.  She  became  the  focus 
of  his  world.  All  the  scene  about  him  seemed  a  mirage 
and  she  alone  was  real.  He  drew  himself  erect,  looking 
down  at  her.  She  gazed  up  and  understood.  All  the 
questions  with  which  she  had  been  torturing  herself  died 
into  silence,  and  in  their  place  dawned  a  happiness,  that 
gave  to  her  beauty  its  last  perfecting  touch. 

The  duchess  had  swept  on.  She  did  not  realise  that 
her  niece  was  not  following.  When  she  glanced  back, 
she  saw  Yerington  and  Philida  still  standing,  high  and 
conspicuous  half-way  up  the  broad  staircase,  for  all  the 
world  to  see. 

And  all  the  world  did  see,  and  smiled  and  nudged,  and 
Mr.  Mansur  saw  and  bit  his  lip.  But  for  one  happy 
moment  the  couple  upon  the  staircase  were  conscious  only 
of  one  another. 

The  moment  passed.  Philida  tripped  on  after  her  aunt, 
and  the  earl  turned  to  his  next  guest. 

Lord  Yerington  chose  her,  his  betrothed,  and  the  lady 
in  whose  honour  the  ball  had  been  given,  to  move  the 
first  minuet. 

The  guests  crowded  into  the  ballroom  and  gathered 
about  the  doors  to  watch  them.  Many  of  them  had  never 
as  yet  seen  this  girl  whom  the  madcap  earl  had  chosen 
for  his  wife,  and  they  were  one  and  all  upon  the  qui  vive 
of  curiosity. 

The  duchess  concealed  her  pride  with  difficulty.  She 
had  not  yet  settled  down  to  cards  which  always  absorbed 
her  to  the  exclusion  of  other  interests,  whether  at  as- 
semblies, routs  or  drums. 

This  first  minuet  was  a  trying  ordeal  to  Philida,  and 
she  went  through  it  with  shaking  knees. 

But  grace  is  a  mental  quality  and,  as  she  picked  her 
way  through  the  stately  dance,  curtseying,  smiling,  going 


THE    BALL  343 

through  her  steps  with  a  pretty  care  that  kept  her  lips 
parted  and  her  eyes  wide  lest  she  should  blunder,  she  was 
irresistible. 

As  he  watched  her,  Lord  March  swore  that  she  almost 
made  him  forget  the  Zamparini,  and  George  Selwyn 
whispered  into  Gilly  Williams'  ear: 

"  A  good  man  spoiled  for  White's,  I'll  be  bound." 

The  inveterate  card-players  settled  down  to  loo,  fargo, 
piquet,  quadrille  or  whist,  according  to  their  several 
fancies. 

In  a  corner  Yerington  devoted  himself  to  Philida,  while 
the  duchess  kept  the  pretence  of  an  eye  on  her,  as  she 
impartially  dealt  cards,  scandal  and  anecdotes,  which  she 
would  have  given  her  ears  rather  than  that  same  niece 
she  was  guarding  should  have  heard. 

Over  a  game  of  cards,  where  "  Fish  "  Crawford's  cau- 
tion kept  the  stakes  too  low  for  the  spice  of  real  interest, 
sat  George  Selywn,  Gilly  Williams,  and  Sir  Geoffrey 
Baxter. 

"  Yerington  hath  stole  a  march  on  us,"  said  Gilly 
Williams  as  he  took  a  trick  without  enthusiasm.  "  I'm 
hit  myself.  'Twas  warily  done  to  capture  this  beauty  in 
the  country  before  the  Court  had  had  a  peep  at  her." 

Sir  Geoffrey  sighed  portentously. 

"  I  was  visiting  at  Marsden  House,  but  she  had  no 
eyes  for  me." 

Crawford  raked  in  the  stakes  with  long,  bony  fingers. 

"  And  I  refused  an  invitation  from  her  grace  and,  in- 
stead, I  went  to  drink  the  waters  at  Bath,"  he  murmured 
with  a  sigh.  "  Deadly  dull,  too,  and  nobody  walking 
on  two  legs.  What's  the  news  in  town  ?  " 

"  None,  save  Yerington's  lamentable  approaching  back-' 
sliding  into  the  holy  state  of  matrimony,"  answered 
George  Selwyn.  "  The  most  valetudinarian  reputations 
have  taken  on  a  mysterious  new  lease  of  life." 


344.  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Gilly  Williams  laughed. 

"  Lady  Caroline  Dashwood  is  reported  to  be  doting 
on  her  husband,"  he  said.  "  Egad,  Yerington  has  so 
much  to  his  credit." 

Crawford  arranged  his  cards  and  tucked  a  covey  of 
trumps  under  his  thumb.  His  eyes  took  on  that  peculiar 
expression  which,  combined  with  his  insatiable  interest  in 
his  neighbour's  affairs,  gave  him  the  soubriquet  of  "  Fish." 

"  I  did  better  than  that  in  Bath  and  touching  Yering- 
ton, too,"  he  said.  "  I  had  it  straight  from  the  Widow 
Sylvester." 

"  The  Widow  Sylvester  ?  "  exclaimed  George  Selwyn, 
casting  up  his  eyes.  "  Then,  Heaven  have  mercy  on  his 
soul!  The  Widow  Sylvester,  manufacturer  of  scandal, 
unlimited." 

"  Not  so  fast,"  cried  Mr.  Crawford,  with  a  touch  of 
irritation.  "  I  admit  the  tale  would  have  little  value  had 
I  not  first  troubled  to  inform  myself.  This  I  know;  my 
Lord  Yerington's  estates  are  for  sale." 

"  This  is  simply  folly,"  exclaimed  Gilly  Williams,  with 
a  touch  of  asperity.  "  Yerington  plays  deep,  but  he  is 
in  no  such  plight  as  this.  Take,  for  example,  this  ball 
to-night.  It  alone  has  cost  a  small  fortune." 

"  Fish  "  Crawford  smiled  drily. 

"  Nero  fiddled  over  burning  Rome,"  he  said. 

George  Selwyn  was  genuinely  distressed. 

"  This  is  the  basest  scandal.  Yerington's  engagement 
proves  that.  Lady  Philida,  it  is  well  known,  has  only 
her  beauty  for  dowry." 

Crawford  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  aggravating 
smile.  George  Selwyn  turned  and  addressed  Walpole, 
who  was  passing. 

"  Come,  Horry,"  he  said,  "  here  is  a  new  role  for  you. 
Slay  hydra-headed  slander  with  a  single  blow.  Have 
you  heard  the  news  ?  " 


THE    BALL  345 

"The  news?"  exclaimed  Walpole  plaintively.  "I 
know  what's  trumps — that's  all.  My  very  thoughts  are 
speckled  with  clubs  and  hearts,  spades  and  diamonds. 
In  the  name  of  variety,  what  is  the  news  ?  " 

Crawford  came  directly  to  the  point.  He  was  annoyed 
that  his  treasured  bit  of  gossip  should  meet  with  so 
dubious  a  reception. 

"  Rumour  hath  it  that  Yerington  is  ruined.  I  have 
had  it  from  the  Widow  Sylvester." 

Walpole  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"  Have  you  not  learned,"  he  said,  taking  a  meditative 
pinch  of  snuff,  "  that  at  threescore  years  a  scandal- 
monger's tongue  hath  outgrown  all  control?  Such  a 
woman's  imagination  is  like  the  sun, — the  nearer  it  draws 
to  the  horizon,  the  longer  shadow  it  casts." 

Discredited,  but  unconvinced,  Mr.  Crawford  returned 
to  the  game,  which  was  soon  dropped  by  mutual  consent. 
Then  his  story  began  floating  through  the  room.  A  hint 
dropped  as  hands  touched  and  eyes  met  in  the  mazes  of 
a  minuet;  a  few  words  over  the  cards;  a  comment  from 
an  envious  mother  sitting  Gorgon-like  in  a  corner  with 
her  partnerless  daughters.  Soon  the  room  was  full  of  the 
tale,  carried  by  many-tongued,  indefinable  rumour. 

Philida  was  in  high  spirits.  Her  relief  at  the  dissipa- 
tion of  her  recent  doubts  had  doubled  her  enjoyment. 
A  girl's  undimmed  joy  winged  her  heels  and  her  heart. 

Yerington  wandered  from  room  to  room  and  guest  to 
guest,  but  somewhere  in  the  background  of  his  mind,  he 
was  always  conscious  of  her  presence,  whether  she  was 
within  range  of  his  actual  vision  or  not.  He  kept  a 
covert  watch  upon  Mansur.  Amidst  the  chaos  of  his 
thoughts  he  was  determined  upon  one  thing, — that  gentle- 
man should  not  have  a  tete-a-tete  with  Philida.  The 
meaningless  gaiety  of  the  scene  about  him  oppressed  him. 
The  women  in  their  sweeping  skirts  and  elaborate  head- 


316  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

dresses;  the  men  in  their  much-dressed  wigs  and  French 
modes;  the  empty  smiles  and  over-elaborate  bows;  the 
music,  thin  and  stringy;  the  stately  minuet  alternating 
with  the  country  dance:  an  encompassing  disgust  of  it  all 
came  over  him.  Here,  as  in  a  mirror,  he  saw  the  de- 
lirium of  his  life.  This  company  of  men  and  women, 
hollow  and  heartless,  made  up  for  the  most  part  the  sum 
total  of  his  friendships.  Such  scenes  as  this  represented 
the  theatre  of  his  history.  This  audience  it  was  to  which 
he  had  always  played.  Now  there  was  left  to  him  only 
Philida,  and  that  knowledge  had  grown  to  be  a  torture. 

As  partner  succeeded  partner,  and  he  saw  her  repeat- 
edly led  out  to  the  dance,  he  could  scarcely  conceal  his 
envious  pain.  And  when  she  romped  lightheartedly 
through  a  reel  with  Captain  Darlington,  he  turned  away 
to  hide  his  chagrin  from  observant  eyes.  The  place  he 
chose  for  his  retreat  was  the  top  of  the  long  ballroom, 
just  where  wide  open  doors  gave  upon  the  reception- 
rooms.  These  were  filled  with  groups  of  people  and 
lined  with  tables. 

•  His  move  in  that  direction  had  been  involuntary.  In- 
stead of  shielding,  it  made  him  especially  conspicuous. 
He  was  too  absorbed  by  his  thoughts  to  notice  this. 

When  the  country  dance  was  finished,  Philida  turned 
to  him  with  a  swift,  trusting  smile.  She  had  smiled  at 
him  after  this  fashion  so  seldom  of  late  and  he  was  not 
conscious  how  much  love  was  in  his  eyes,  as  he  answered 
her. 

The  old  sense  of  isolation  which  had  pursued  him  at 
intervals  ever  since  he  had  been  face  to  face  with  death 
in  the  library  at  Oxholme,  took  hold  upon  him  with 
peculiar  force  at  this  moment.  He  had  no  thought  for 
the  people  who  might  be  watching  them.  They  were  as 
nothing  to  him  during  this  brief  remnant  of  his  life. 

As  Captain  Darlington  left  them,  Philida  gave  a  deep 


THE    BALL  347 

satisfied  sigh.  She  plied  her  fan  vigorously,  at  the  same 
time  smoothing  the  satin  folds  of  her  treasured  new 
gown. 

"Isn't  it  beautiful?"  said  she  ecstatically. 

"  And  so  you  are  enjoying  it?  "  he  asked,  bending  over 
her. 

"  Lud,"  she  answered,  "  'tis  monstrous  diverting  now 
I'm  getting  a  little  over  being  frightened.  Does  not 
Captain  Darlington  dance  divinely,  my  lord!  I  vow, 
'twas  like  floating." 

She  waved  her  fan  and  nodded  her  head  to  the 
music. 

He  rested  one  arm  upon  the  screen  and  gazed  down 
at  her. 

"  What  a  child  you  are,"  he  said  sadly. 

Philida  was  just  beginning  to  feel  sufficiently  a  woman 
to  resent  this. 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not,  my  lord,"  she  answered  wilfully. 
"  It  is  the  curls  that  deceive  you.  When  I  am 
married " 

She  stopped,  biting  her  lips  and  blushing  furiously. 
In  their  constrained  and  formal  courtship  this  phrase  had 
not  appeared  before. 

He  did  not  change  expression  or  attitude,  except  that 
the  slender,  jewelled  hand  resting  upon  the  screen  closed 
suddenly. 

"  And  when  you  are  married  ?  "  he  echoed  in  question, 
his  eyes  upon  her  crimsoned  face. 

"  I'll  pin  them  up,"  she  went  on,  recovering  herself, 
"  and  put  on  such  an  air.  I  protest  it  will  quite  frighten 
you."  She  nodded  her  head  and  laughed.  "  And  you've 
not  said  yet  that  you  like  my  new  gown." 

"  I  did  not  note  it,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice.  "  I 
saw  but  your  face." 

"  La,  but  you  must  note  it.     If  you  could  but  know 


348  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

all  the  cutting  and  the  pinning  and  the  standing  for 
hours  that  went  into  the  making  of  it.  Sybil  says  I  could 
not  have  done  better  in  Paris."  Then  a  new  and  more 
serious  strain  of  thought  struck  her.  She  turned  to  him, 
with  a  changed  expression  in  her  eyes.  "  Do  you  re- 
member that  first  day  you  saw  me,  when  I  wore  my  tire- 
woman's borrowed  clothes?  'Twas  different  then  from 
now.  How  brave  you  were !  "  Her  gaze  rested  on  him 
with  admiration,  and  a  touch  of  wonder. 

She  had  not  spoken  of  this  since  their  betrothal.  The 
joy  and  the  excitement  of  the  evening  were  opening  her 
heart,  and  she  was  turning  to  him  naturally  with  con- 
fidences and  reminiscences.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  what 
his  life  with  this  child-woman  might  be,  this  strange  com- 
pound of  girlishness,  mingled  with  a  sympathetic  insight 
beyond  her  years. 

"  I  love  to  remember  you  as  you  were  that  day,"  she 
went  on,  and  then  she  shook  her  head  with  a  sage  little 
air  of  reproach.  "  But,  methinks,  perhaps,  'twas  your 
habit  then  to  spell  danger  with  too  small  a  D." 

She  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  opening  and  closing 
her  fan,  turning  over  a  thought  that  she  was  hesitating 
to  voice.  His  next  words  were  so  close  to  the  line  of  her 
reflections  that  she  looked  up  at  him,  startled. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  how  do  you  oftenest  think  of 
me?" 

The  question  came  slowly  and  with  diffidence,  but  he 
was  mastered  by  a  yearning  to  learn  somewhat  of  her 
heart  and  of  his  place  within  it. 

She  answered  simply. 

"  I  always  seem  to  see  you  most  vividly  as  you  ap- 
peared the  night  after  my  experience  with — Lady  Caro- 
line. I  had  been  so  afraid  and  closed  my  eyes  upon  such 
terror.  I  opened  them  as  you  carried  me  to  the  farm- 
house. It  was  'dark  and  I  was  still  fearful.  Then  I 


THE    BALL  S49 

looked  up,  and  it  was  your  face  I  saw  in  the  lantern-light. 
Your  chin  with  that  trace  of  a  dimple."  She  studied 
him,  forgetting  herself.  "  And  your  eyes  were  looking 
down  at  me."  She  gave  a  little  sigh.  "  You  did  not 
know  that  I  had  seen  you,  for  I  think  I  fainted  again; 
but  I  could  not  have  been  nearer  Heaven  than  I  was  then 
— to  realise  after  all  the  terror  that  it  was  you  who  held 
me." 

"  Ah !  "  the  exclamation  was  wrung  from  him.  For  an 
instant  he  held  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  What  is  it,  my  lord  ?  "  she  asked  in  alarm. 

His  only  reply  was  to  seat  himself  beside  her.  From 
this  position  she  could  only  see  his  profile,  but  she  per- 
ceived that  he  was  pale,  and  his  voice  when  he  spoke  was 
strange. 

"  I  would/'  he  said,  "  that  in  the  future,  when  you 
think  of  me,  that  you'd  think  of  me  kindly;  that,  if  you 
felt  disposed  towards  bitterness,  you'd  recall  me  as  you 
saw  me  then.  Keep  your  hold  upon  your  ideal  of  me  in 
spite  of  scandalous  tongues,  and  try  to  remember  that  in 
every  man  there  are  many  men:  that  man  was  true,  true 
to  the  depth  of  him." 

All  her  gaiety  had  gone. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said  in  bewilderment. 
"  What  do  you  mean,  my  lord  ?  You  speak  as  if " 

She  could  not  finish.  The  enigma  read  so  many  ways. 
Her  youth  and  her  inexperience  seemed  on  a  sudden  to 
surround  her,  and  to  make  her  feel  so  hopelessly  at  a  dis- 
advantage with  this  man  of  the  world.  She  felt  chilled 
and  set  aside. 

Yerington  did  not  speak.  He  met  her  questioning 
eyes,  striving  to  keep  the  despair  from  his  own. 

A  voice  broke  upon  their  silence,  drawling,  frivolous, 
striking  a  harsh  note  of  discord  that  made  them  both 
start. 


350  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  'Fore  Gad,  Lady  Philida,"  said  George  Selwyn,  "  it 
is  scurvy  of  Yerington  to  keep  you  all  to  himself  in  this 
fashion.  We  will  not  suffer  it,  will  we,  Gilly  ?  " 

"  Not  so  long  as  the  gout  has  not  laid  me  by  the  heels, 
I've  still  the  makings  of  a  minuet  in  me,  and  Lady 
Philida  in  her  kindness  may  be  pleased  to  favour  me," 
responded  that  gentleman. 

Mr.  Crawford  elbowed  his  way  in. 

"  Will  you  present  me,  Yerington  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a 
low  bow.  "  Fortune  has  served  me  ill  and  I  am  yet  poor 
in  the  absence  of  the  Lady  Philida  Wentworth's  acquaint- 
ance." 

Yerington  rose  with  a  forced  smile.  He  was  not  to 
escape  the  mummery  of  life.  A  tinge  of  bitterness  ap- 
peared in  the  terms  of  his  introduction. 

"  I  can  scarce  pretend  to  the  omnipotence  of  Fortune," 
he  said,  "  but,  with  the  Lady  Philida's  permission,  I  may 
mend  this  matter.  May  I  present  to  your  ladyship  a 
gentleman  noted  in  two  courts  for  his  interest  in  human- 
ity?" 

Philida  swept  a  deep  curtsey. 

George  Selwyn  smiled  at  Yerington,  relishing  his  dig 
at  the  expense  of  the  incorrigible  gossip.  "  Fish  "  Craw- 
ford, however,  mounted  his  favourite  hobby  without  de- 
lay and  gave  to  Philida  some  of  his  sweepings  of  the 
evening. 

"  Egad,  your  ladyship,"  he  said,  with  affected  anima- 
tion, "  I  swear  the  beautiful  Mistress  Gunnings  will  be 
expiring  of  spleen.  The  town  already  is  murmuring  with 
your  name.  I  prophesy  you'll  be  the  toast  of  the  season." 

Philida  was  unaccustomed  to  flattery.  She  looked  up 
at  the  man  before  her,  waving  his  snuff-box  and  throwing 
back  the  ruffles  from  his  wrist,  and  she  felt  moved  to 
girlish  laughter.  Her  amusement  held  her  shyness  in 
check. 


THE    BALL  351 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  she  answered,  "  I  know  not  what  I've 
done  to  merit  this  renown." 

"  That  was  pretty  spoke,  your  ladyship,  and,  'fore 
Gad,  'twas  Nature  who  did  it  and  not  you;  but  if  you 
would  know  what  I  have  heard,  and  what  has  set  the 
toothless  old  beldames  and  the  younger  ladies  half  mad 
with  spite,  then  'twould  be  well  for  you  to  consult  your 
mirror." 

"  The  town  is  new  to  me,"  she  said  with  a  dignity  that 
sat  quaintly  on  her  years,  "  and  I  have  no  key  to  its 
ways." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

THE  DUEL 

Fair  peace  and  fell  strife, 
Sweet  dreams  and  fierce  play, 
Enjoyment  and  woe, 
Hell  and  Eden  below. 

— JAROSLOV  VECHLICKY. 

AT  this  moment  Lord  Yerington's  face  darkened.  The 
fiddles  had  begun  tuning  for  another  dance,  and  it  was 
Mr.  Mansur  who  stood  before  Philida. 

The  crisis  was  reached,  and  he  knew  it. 

His  manner  grew  quieter  as  his  fighting  blood  began 
to  rise.  This  was  the  situation  for  which  he  had  been 
waiting.  He  had  realised  that  it  was  inevitable,  and  he 
intended  to  circumvent  Mr.  Mansur  by  every  device 
within  his  ingenuity. 

The  friends  who  stood  about  him  were  familiar  only 
with  his  debonair  spirit,  and  had  long  accepted  with  re- 
luctance his  pronounced  preference  for  Mr.  Mansur. 
They,  therefore,  noted  with  surprise,  the  lift  of  his 
nostrils  as  he  looked  at  him.  There  was  an  indefinable 
stress  in  this  moment  which  wore  upon  its  surface  an  ap- 
pearance so  casual.  Therefore,  though  the  fiddles  were 
tuning  with  aimless  notes  not  yet  formed  to  dance-rhythm, 
these  beaux  still  lingered,  held  by  the  curiosity  that  pre- 
vailed among  them  and  which  was  as  strong  as  their 
affectation,  or  their  aptitude  for  epigram. 

"  This  is  my  dance,  I  think,  your  ladyship,"  said  Mr. 
Mansur,  bowing  low. 

Philida  rose  to  her  feet  in  a  little  flutter  of  embarrass- 
ment. She  had  forgotten  him  until  he  appeared,  and  en- 

352 


THE    DUEL  353 

deavoured  to  conceal  her  entire  preoccupation  by  a  smile. 
She  had  placed  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  when  Lord 
Yerington  spoke.  His  voice  was  so  unnatural  that  at  the 
first  word  Philida  started  and  looked  at  him.  His 
friends,  too,  accustomed  to  his  genial  carelessness,  re- 
garded him  with  surprise.  This,  however,  did  not  appear 
in  their  faces.  Habitual  gamesters,  even  when  they  do  not 
possess  the  immobility  of  the  upper  classes,  seldom  indulge 
in  the  luxury  of  facial  expressiveness.  They  looked  to- 
wards Mr.  Mansur  with  gentle  inquiry,  though  they  were 
inwardly  alert.  That  gentleman  was  rapidly  throwing 
over  the  last  vestiges  of  his  prudence.  His  eyes  were 
sparkling  and  his  breath  coming  short.  Yerington  ad- 
dressed him. 

"  Lady  Philida  dances  with  none  but  me  to-night,"  he 
said  slowly. 

Philida's  hand  fell  to  her  side.  She  turned  in  surprise 
to  him,  but  under  her  surprise  lay  an  involuntary  conces- 
sion to  his  will.  She  saw  he  was  labouring  under  intense 
excitement.  She  felt  a  longing  to  conceal  this  from  ob- 
servers, to  pass  over  the  awkward  situation  with  the  best 
possible  grace. 

Mr.  Mansur's  face  was  livid. 

"  This  is  a  matter  for  the  Lady  Philida,"  he  said,  his 
lips  twitching. 

"  I  pray  you,  gentlemen,"  she  answered,  placing  her 
hand  that  shook  slightly  upon  the  arm  Lord  Yerington 
extended  her,  "  but  Lord  Yerington's  will  is  mine  to- 
night." 

With  a  quick-drawn  breath  he  bent  his  head.  Her 
loyalty  to  him  moved  him  profoundly. 

Sir  Geoffrey  had  just  joined  the  group.  With  his 
perennial  tactlessness,  his  high  shrill  voice  rose  in  protest. 

"  Egad,  you  are  going  to  deprive  us  of  our  little  share? 
Have  not  the  Fates  been  niggard  enough?  Hang  me, 


354)  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

'tis  scurvy  of  you.  I  call  you  all  to  witness,  is  it  not 
scurvy  of  him  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  towards  the  others 
in  the  little  group. 

"  If  you  were  not  host  to-night,  this  would  be  a  fight- 
ing matter,"  muttered  Mansur. 

Yerington's  manner  changed.  He  looked  about  him 
with  assumed  lightness. 

"  Friends,"  he  said,  "  you  know  my  madcap  reputation. 
This  is  but  another  whim,  you'll  think.  Then  have  it 
so,  in  the  name  of  cap  and  bells,  in  the  name  of  folly, 
in  the  name  of  nonsense  and  laughter;  in  the  name  of 
anything  that  is  not  ill-feeling.  Give  me  my  way — to- 
night." 

Sir  Geoffrey  Baxter  fluttered  off  with  his  grievance  to 
the  duchess.  Yerington  continued: 

"  After  to-night,  I  pray  you,  mark  me  well.  Then  all 
such  favours  as  lie  within  her  ladyship's  bestowal  and  as 
are  agreeable  to  her  gentle  heart,  she  may  grant  at  her 
discretion.  You  behold  my  entrance,  by  her  ladyship's 
kindness,  as  tyrant."  He  bowed  toward  her  with  a  ges- 
ture full  of  reverence,  then  raised  his  head  and  smiled 
round  at  them  softly.  "  Of  my  exit.,  gentlemen,  you 
shall  hear  anon." 

"  As  jealous  as  Othello,"  whispered  Gilly  Williams,  as 
they  withdrew.  "The  merry  earl!  And  of  Mansur! 
When  will  wonders  cease?  " 

"  Something  rotten  in  the  state  of  Denmark,"  said 
George  Selwyn  thoughtfully. 

Mansur  turned  away.  From  that  moment  he  was 
immovably  bent  upon  a  design  from  which  no  considera- 
tion could  divert  him.  For  years  he  had  built  toward  a 
position.  Now  he  stood  affronted  and  an  object  of  mere 
ridicule  in  the  world  to  which  he  had  aspired.  For  half 
his  life  he  had  patiently  toiled  to  accomplish  the  ruin  of 
Lord  Yerington,  who  now  seemed  upon  the  verge  of 


THE    DUEL  555 

escaping  him,  and  who  had  won  the  woman  he  had  loved. 
He  had,  also,  insulted  him  in  public,  and  he  had  refused 
to  meet  him  as  an  equal  in  duel.  In  the  full  tide  of  his 
hatred,  his  love,  his  prudence,  even  his  ambitions,  were 
forgotten.  No  publicity  seemed  sufficient  for  his  revenge, 
and  upon  revenge  he  was  determined.  To  the  world  he 
had  always  played.  He  had  passed  through  life  conscious 
of  every  eye  upon  him,  tuning  his  poses  and  his  phrases 
to  an  audience.  To  such  a  man  an  audience  was  indis- 
pensable. To  him  life's  silent  moments,  however  steeped 
they  might  be  in  events  and  emotions,  were  things  of 
comparatively  small  value. 

As  he  turned  his  back  upon  Lord  Yerington  and 
Philida,  he  could  see  nothing  distinctly.  The  figures 
moving  in  the  dance  were  mere  blurs  of  colour  under  the 
brilliant  light. 

When  the  dance  had  ended  Mr.  Crawford  sought  him 
out.  That  worthy  scented  trouble,  and  Mr.  Mansur's 
face  suggested  him  as  a  clue.  He  offered  his  snuff-box, 
which  the  latter  curtly  declined.  They  stood  at  the  end 
of  the  ballroom,  where  Lord  Yerington  and  Philida  had 
been  during  the  foregoing  scene,  and  therefore  were 
clearly  visible  its  entire  length  and  throughout  the  stretch 
of  the  reception-rooms. 

Crawford  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Is  it  true,"  he  asked,  bringing  his  face  close  to  Mr. 
Mansur's,  "  that  Oxholme  is  stripped  and  that  Yering- 
ton's  estates  are  purchasable?  " 

Mansur  looked  round  at  him  sharply,  and  then  his 
eyes  strayed  towards  the  Duchess  of  Croome,  occupied 
with  her  game  of  cards. 

"  I  make  it  diamonds,  Horry,"  she  was  saying.  "  I 
have  no  luck  with  hearts,  even  when  my  hand  appears  to 
warrant  it." 

Lord  Yerington  and  Philida  were  well  within  hearing 


356  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

of  Mr.  Mansur's  voice  as  he  answered.  His  manner  as 
he  did  so  was  calculated  to  increase  Mr.  Crawford's 
curiosity. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  he  drawled. 

Crawford's  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  drew  nearer,  his 
head  on  one  side. 

"No  difficulties,  I  hope?"  he  whispered,  with  an  un- 
conscious movement  of  his  forefinger  upon  his  under  lip ; 
a  gesture  often  observable  in  misers,  and  Mr.  Crawford 
garnered  his  scandal  as  eagerly  as  ever  a  miser  did  his 
gold. 

"  A  whim,  perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Mansur.  "  His  lord- 
ship's full  of  whims." 

Crawford  cast  his  eyes  ceilingward. 

"What  is  England  coming  to?"  he  sighed  hypocritic- 
ally. "  Men  part  with  roof-trees  which  have  sheltered 
theirs  for  generations,  as  lightly  as  they  would  a  foundered 
horse." 

Glancing  over  his  shoulder,  Philida's  face  came  within 
the  range  of  Mr.  Mansur's  vision.  All  the  love  he  had 
felt  for  her,  that  once  would  have  counselled  prudence  or 
delay,  now  only  went  to  swell  the  sum  of  his  desire  for 
vengeance.  Love,  in  a  jealous  heart,  is  scarcely  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  hatred.  He  was  aware  that  with  his 
own  hands  he  was  tearing  down  the  slow-built  fabric  of 
his  fortunes,  but  a  savage  joy  went  into  the  doing,  for 
he  knew  that  Lord  Yerington's  perished  with  his. 

"  You  speak  truly,  Mr.  Crawford/'  he  said,  purposely 
raising  his  voice.  He  knew,  as  he  spoke,  that  many 
scandal-loving  ears  were  eagerly  waiting  for  his  words. 

The  duchess  had  risen  from  her  cards,  and  was  stand- 
ing conversing  with  Philida  and  Lord  Yerington. 

Mansur  continued,  responding  to  Crawford's  last  com- 
ment: 

"  The  evil  grows  madder  day  by  day.     Those,  whose 


THE    DUEL  857 

worst  crimes  were  mere  follies,  sometimes,  in  the  vortex 
— for  human  nature's  weak,  Mr.  Crawford, "  inter- 
rupting himself. 

"  Lamentably  weak,"  sighed  Mr.  Crawford,  with  in- 
tent eyes,  shrugging  his  shoulders  expressively.  It  was  a 
cautious  compromise,  awaiting  new  developments. 

"  But  now  a  case  comes  to  my  mind,"  continued  Man- 
sur.  '  'Tis  sad,  monstrous  sad.  A  man  who  piled  mad- 
ness upon  madness.  Indeed,  he  had  a  reputation  for 
invention  in  his  follies  that  gave  them  a  cachet.  But 
mayhap,  I'd  best  suppress  it." 

The  words  came  clearly  to  Lord  Yerington.  He  real- 
ised that  the  culminating  moment  was  reached.  He  con- 
tinued to  exchange  commonplaces  with  the  duchess,  but 
his  mind  was  active. 

Mr.  Crawford  began  dimly  to  perceive  that  he  was  be- 
ing used  as  a  medium  for  a  purpose  which,  at  the  moment, 
he  could  not  guess.  He  felt  a  discreet  impulse  to  with- 
draw. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  wiser — for  the  time "  he 

answered  nervously. 

The  duchess  turned. 

"What  is  this  I  hear?"  she  queried,  nothing  in  her 
code  counselling  delicacy.  "  My  ears  are  wagging.  Mr. 
Mansur,  your  mind  has  a  judicial  quality.  Methinks 
those  words  were  spoke  to  the  jury."  She  waved  a  fan 
about  to  include  the  guests  within  hearing.  "  Why  all 
this  shilly-shally?  Come,  follow  up  your  hint." 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Mansur  hesitate'd.  It  came  fully 
to  him  that  if  he  spoke  it  would  then  be  too  late  to  re- 
pent. He  caught  Yerington's  eye,  steady  and  penetrat- 
ing. As  he  did  so,  he  knew  he  would  go  on  to  the  end. 

"  Your  grace,"  he  said,  turning  round  to  her,  "  I  fear 
I've  said  too  much.  It  may  be  that  you  know  this  man, 
and  under  such  circumstances  my  information  would 


358  A   DISCIPLE    OF   CHANCE 

scarce  be  welcome.  Faith,  'twas  ,a  pretty  farce  he  played, 
if  farce  you  can  call  it.  Mr.  Walpole  here  has  more 
intimate  knowledge  than  I  of  'dramatic  terminology. 
Some,  mayhap,  might  call  it  a  tragedy." 

"  Fudge !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess  impatiently.  "  Don't 
play  us  like  this.  I'll  warrant  this  bit  of  scandal  tickles 
your  palate  finely.  Name,  I  prithee,  both  the  scandal 
and  the  sinner." 

"  Lud,  do  we  know  him  ?  "  exclaimed  Sybil  Armytage. 

"Egad,  know  him?"  echoed  Mr.  Mansur.  "You 
may  know  the  set  of  his  ruffles  and  the  turn  of  his 
phrases." 

"  Heaven  send  that  this  is  not  all  prologue!  "  said  Miss 
Chudleigh  to  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  "  for,  methinks, 
this  man  is  like  an  Italian  villa,  facade  and  empti- 
ness." 

Mr.  Mansur  heard  her  comment  and  the  emotional 
dimples  began  to  play  about  his  mouth,  those  danger- 
signals. 

"  My  lord  was  a  pretty  fellow.  He  did  credit  to  his 
tailor,  and  his  bon  mots  became  anecdotes.  Could  ambi- 
tion ask  more?  His  follies  were  imitated;  and  could 
folly  ask  more  ?  " 

"  Curiosity  can  ask  more,"  interrupted  the  duchess, 
"  and  that  is  brevity." 

"  I'll  lay  ten  to  one  this  is  a  fiasco,"  whispered  Lord 
March  to  George  Selwyn.  "  Old  Shem  grows  prolix." 

Mr.  Mansur  was  called  Shem  by  the  men  about  town 
because  the  sharp  red,  white  and  black  contrasts  of  his 
physiognomy  were  said  to  make  him  resemble  the  toy 
figures  in  the  carved  Noah's  Arks. 

"  He  was  a  pretty  gentleman  in  the  boudoirs,"  went  on 
Mr.  Mansur,  with  a  supercilious  lift  of  his  eyebrows, 
"  yet  in  his  cups  but  like  the  rest,  hiccoughing  'twixt  glass 
and  glass  a  dozen  tipsy  toasts." 


THE    DUEL  359 

"  I  mislike  this  story,"  whispered  Philida  to  the  duchess. 
"  I  prithee,  let  us  move  on  out  of  hearing." 

A  laugh  had  followed  Mansur's  last  words.  The  ugly 
sneer  with  which  he  spoke  them  showed  his  personal 
venom,  and  brought  him  well  within  the  range  of  the 
auditors'  ridicule,  while  the  sneer  itself  had  little  power 
to  shock. 

"  There's  no  great  matter  here,"  said  Walpole,  who 
disliked  him.  "  We've  fifty  such  in  our  acquaintance  and, 
if  the  toast  be  witty,  where's  the  harm?  " 

Mr.  Mansur  turned  his  brilliant  smile  upon  them. 

"  The  point  is  yet  to  tell.  His  lordship  played  'deeper 
and  yet  deeper;  lost  and  lost  again.  Then  he  turned  to 
other  channels  to  retrieve.  The  hazard  of  the  cards  and 
dice  alone  did  not  suffice.  He  ventured  all  his  fortune 
upon  'Change.  Need  we  trouble  to  tell  the  end?  He 
lost  it, — every  penny." 

There  was  a  perceptible  rustle  as  the  men  and  women 
of  his  audience  turned  and  glanced  at  one  another.  The 
rumour  of  the  early  evening,  which  had  been  creeping 
about  the  corners,  and  circling  like  smoke  wreaths,  began 
to  descend  and  take  tangible  form  in  their  minds. 

Mr.  Mansur  knew  he  had  them.  He  ceased  to  speak, 
tapped  his  snuff-box,  gave  them  time  to  digest  the  thought, 
and  to  focus  their  suspicions. 

"  One  good  quality  our  peer  possessed,"  he  continued 
after  the  pause,  "  that  was  the  gift  of  silence.  He 
held  his  peace.  Not  even  his  creditors  learned  of  his 
changed  fortunes.  Before  the  bailiffs  came  to  claim  him 
he  had  a  turn  to  make.  As  you'll  perceive,  he  was  a 
resourceful  gentleman.  He  determined  to  wed  an 
heiress." 

This  new  phase  in  the  narrative,  while  it  added  spice 
and  dressed  it  to  the  taste  of  the  jaded  scandal-mongers, 
averted  with  a  sharp  twist,  all  their  suspicions  from  Yer- 


360  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

ington.  For  the  last  fortnight  the  town  had  been  ex- 
hausting itself  in  comments  upon  Lady  Philida's  dower- 
lessness. 

The  tale  made  a  peculiar  appeal  to  the  duchess'  in- 
dignation. 

"  A  monstrous  trick,"  she  said  sharply. 

Yerington  gave  a  start  that  caused  her  to  turn  in 
surprise.  His  face  was  colourless.  This  ordeal  wrung 
him  beyond  endurance.  He  was  determined  to  stop 
Mansur's  words  at  any  cost,  ready  to  go  to  any  extreme, 
mad  or  fantastic.  He  did  not  know,  as  he  stepped  up 
to  him,  whether  he  should  end  the  scene  with  his  fingers 
on  his  throat ;  but  when  he  reached  him,  his  impulse  took 
the  form  of  words. 

"  This  fellow  needs  a  champion,"  he  said,  pausing  be- 
fore the  man  who  had  baited  him  almost  beyond  control. 
"  There's  more  to  tell,  I'll  warrant.  I'll  lay  you  a  hun- 
'dred  to  one  that  he  is  not  so  black  as  you  have  painted 
him.  Oh,  these  trials  by  drawing-room!  Your  evidence 
may  be  perjured,  Mr.  Mansur." 

There  was  an  eager  movement  in  the  room. 

"Will  you  take  him,  Mr.  Mansur?"  cried  Lord 
March.  "  I'll  back  the  unknown  party  of  the  first  part. 
Shall  we  make  it  ponies  ?  " 

Mansur  could  scarcely  conceal  his  exultation. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  slowly,  "  if  it  is  to  be  a  wager, 
let  us  decide  it  after  the  last  French  fashion.  The  dice 
there  are  no  longer  a  la  mode.  It  is  swords  now  decide 
such  matters." 

A  shrill  feminine  scream  arose,  followed  by  a  masculine 
outburst  of  protest. 

Lord  Yerington  awaited  Mr.  Mansur's  next  words. 
He  perceived  whither  he  was  leading  him. 

"  No,"  said  the  latter,  suavely,  "  I  pray  you,  ladies, 
do  not  mistake  me.  'Tis  the  friendliest  crossing  of 


THE    DUEL  S61 

swords.  A  mere  bout  of  skill.  Who  first  disarms  his 
antagonist  has  won  the  wager." 

It  was  an  excess  of  sheer  vanity,  the  tenderest  of  pas- 
sions, that  now  was  moving  him.  To  cross  weapons  with 
Lord  Yerington  at  last,  to  do  so  amid  such  a  scene,  and 
to  prove  himself  the  better  swordsman,  now  possessed 
him  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  consideration.  He 
knew  that,  if  they  but  once  engaged,  it  was  a  fight  to  the 
death.  He  had  not  read  Yerington's  expression  for 
nothing.  He  knew  the  corner  into  which  he  had  forced 
him,  and  that  he  faced  a  desperate  man  whose  life  he  had 
ruined,  and  whom  he  now  sought  to  disparage  in  the  eyes 
of  the  girl  he  loved  and  of  the  world.  He  knew  that 
he  was  tauntingly  stealing  from  him  the  last  stand  he 
coveted — the  privilege  of  himself  explaining  his  position. 
This  Mansur  was  as  determined  he  should  not  do  as 
Yerington  was  bent  upon  it.  But  he  knew  that  he  could 
twist  this  duel  more  to  his  advantage  if  he  came  well 
out  of  it,  than  he  could  challenge  a  plain  statement  of  the 
circumstances  from  Yerington.  They  had  both  played 
high;  they  had  both  lost;  they  were  both  facing  finali- 
ties. 

To  stop  this  man's  tongue  was  Yerington's  controlling 
impulse  now.  He  turned  to  his  guests  with  a  smile  of 
engaging  lightness. 

"  The  idea  is  novel  and  diverting,"  he  said.  "  I  yield 
to  it  with  all  my  heart.  Let  us  make  this  trial  of  our 
skill  in  the  armoury.  Or  shall  it  be  upon  the  lawn  ?  " 

"  Why  not  here  ?  "  cried  Mansur.  "  The  light  is  bet- 
ter, and  then  indeed,  he  who  comes  off  best  will  prove  it 
was  skill  and  not  chance." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  excitement.  The  people  there 
had  not  thought  out  the  episode  clearly  to  its  ultimate  con- 
clusion. They  had  not  realised  that  the  duel  was  beside 
the  point  and  decided  nothing  whatever  of  the  unknown 


362  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

person  who  had  been  attacked,  and  only  the  skill  of  two 
gentlemen.  Mansur,  with  subtlety,  had  led  them  away 
from  that  point.  What  diplomat  does  not  know  the 
value  of  such  a  trick,  and  the  need  of  concentrating  the 
minds  of  his  audience  on  the  point  that  is  not  at  issue 
in  order  that  he  may  have  his  way  upon  the  point  that  is  ? 
Later,  these  people  would  remember  the  irrelevance  of  this 
sham  duel,  and  though  some  of  them  disliked  the  entire 
episode,  they  were  still  hypnotised  into  a  compliance,  if  an 
unwilling  one. 

"  I've  just  returned  from  Paris,  and  I've  heard  of  no 
such  wager,"  said  Horace  Walpole. 

'  'Tis  done  with  buttons,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Craw- 
ford, uneasily.  He  thought  he  saw  further  into  the 
situation  than  the  others  did  and  he  did  not  like  the 
look  of  it. 

Mansur's  manner  was  full  of  suppressed  excitement. 

"  We  are  no  such  bunglers,  are  we,  Yerington  ?  "  he 
said.  "  With  the  points  is  the  custom." 

"  But  the  swords  may  go  wild  and  harm  come  to  the 
ladies,"  objected  Gilly  Williams. 

"  We  know  our  weapons  from  tip  to  hilt,"  said  Man- 
sur with  a  sort  of  wild  gaiety  in  his  voice. 

The  duchess  precipitated  the  next  move. 

"  Come,"  she  cried,  "  I  like  this  idea.  There's  life  in 
it.  We  poor  women! — our  tame  lives  so  seldom  include 
duels,  even  sham  ones.  Prithee,  on  with  it,  gentle- 
men." 

After  these  few  scattered  objections,  an  intense  curi- 
osity took  possession  of  the  onlookers.  In  corners  the 
gentlemen  were  making  hasty  wagers,  with  heavy  odds  on 
Lord  Yerington. 

Philida  was  bewildered,  silent  and   afraid. 

The  centre  of  the  ballroom  was  hastily  cleared.  Its 
polished  floor  shone  in  the  candle-light.  The  lackeys 


THE    DUEL  365 

solemnly  snuffed  all  the  candles  into  greater  brilliancy, 
brought  the  gentlemen's  dress  swords,  and  withdrew. 

The  musicians  stopped  playing  to  stare  at  the  strange 
spectacle  of  two  gentlemen  standing,  their  swords  drawn 
and  en  garde  in  a  ballroom,  while  the  recent  dancers 
crowded  around  the  wall  in  silent  assent  to  the  spectacle. 
The  musicians  had  been  too  far  away  to  overhear  the 
previous  dialogue  and  they  were  almost  persuaded  that 
they  were  dreaming. 

"  On  with  it,  Yerington,  for  the  honour  of  your 
house,"  called  the  duchess. 

Except  that  their  faces  were  pale,  nothing  of  the  fatal 
nature  of  the  encounter  appeared  in  the  manner  of  the 
combatants.  Lord  Yerington's  blood  always  quickened 
when  there  was  danger  in  the  air,  and  the  thirst  that  now 
possessed  him  to  silence  the  man  opposite  to  him,  made 
his  eyes  steady  and  bright. 

Mansur's  manner,  usually  subdued  to  artificial  quiet, 
was  actually  gay  as  he  felt  the  slither  of  Lord  Yerington's 
blade  down  the  side  of  his.  The  sound  of  it  was  music 
to  him,  and  the  presence  of  the  waiting  guests,  bepatched, 
brocaded,  scented  and  beruffled,  filled  him  with  exulta- 
tion. His  most  ardent  fancy  could  not  have  painted 
such  a  triumph. 

It  was  only  when  their  blades  engaged  and  disengaged, 
eye  fixed  on  eye,  each  silently  feeling  for  the  other's 
strength  or  weakness,  that  the  undertone  of  seriousness 
began  to  appear  and  that  the  white  anger  of  their  hearts 
was  revealed. 

Yerington's  sword-play,  brilliant,  subtle,  backed  by  a 
flexible  and  steely  wrist,  was  resourceful  and  unexpected. 
Strangely  enough,  Mansur,  whose  shifty  quality  of  mind 
would  seem  to  promise  a  method  of  feints  and  expedients, 
fought  with  steady  skill,  stronger  in  defence  than  attack. 
It  may  be  that  he  thought  to  weary  his  opponent,  whose 


864  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

nerves  he  knew  had  been  for  weeks  on  the  rack.  His 
defence  was  like  a  wall, — rapid,  not  brilliant,  but  inflex- 
ible. Yerington's  attack,  varied  and  full  of  imagination, 
in  which  he  mingled  the  French  and  Italian  schools,  was 
strong  and  baffling.  Yet  against  Mansur  he  seemed  to 
gain  no  advantage.  That  gentleman's  persistent  attitude 
of  defence  only,  surprised  him.  Then,  with  a  flash, 
though  with  eye  and  mind  so  engaged  it  would  seem 
that  subjective  impressions  were  for  the  nonce  impossible, 
the  truth  came  to  him.  He  knew  that  his  antagonist 
was  not  only  seeking  to  wear  him  down,  but  was  de- 
liberately trying  to  irritate  him.  His  whole  attitude  was 
calculated.  In  the  encounter  he  would  appear  to  those 
who  watched,  to  be  calm,  skilful,  unimpassioned.  Then,  if 
Yerington  himself  rushed  in,  he  could  plead  that,  in  the 
face  of  a  furious  attack,  he  had  struck  wildly  and  in  self- 
defence,  and  thus,  in  the  very  act  of  his  villainy,  clear 
himself.  As  this  conviction  came  to  Lord  Yerington  he 
realised  why  his  usually  baffling  methods  had  hitherto 
availed  him  nothing.  Mansur  must  have  been  deliber- 
ately practising  with  this  fight  in  view.  With  this  real- 
isation, a  fury  took  possession  of  him.  He  forgot 
Philida;  he  forgot  the  throng  of  his  waiting  guests.  All 
his  world  was  just  the  length  of  his  sword,  and  all  his 
determination,  to  blot  the  clear  red  and  white  of  the 
countenance  which  faced  him,  to  a  sudden  grey. 

The  swords  flashed  and  twisted;  the  feet  of  the  duellists 
shuffled  over  the  floor  with,  now  and  then,  a  slip  that 
brought  a  scream  from  the  women.  The  combatants 
were  beginning  to  breathe  heavily.  Occasionally  the 
gentlemen  who  watched  them  made  a  comment. 

"  Well  done,  Yerington,  that  thrust  is  new !  " 

"  Bravo,  he  has  a  wrist  of  steel." 

Selwyn  whispered  to  Walpole: 

"  But  one  generation  from  a  cleaver,  and  yet  he  handles 


THE    DUEL  365 

his  sword  after  this  fashion.     Talk  not  to  me  of  ances- 
try." 

Suddenly  Yerington  changed  his  tactics.  He  no  longer 
attacked.  He  determined  not  to  play  Mansur's  hand 
for  him  tamely.  He  stood  back,  his  sword  dangling,  with 
a  loose  wrist,  a  provoking  smile  upon  his  face — and 
waited.  This  forced  Mansur  from  his  position.  He  ad- 
vanced and  feinted.  Yerington  parried  and  again  put 
himself  en  garde.  Again  Mansur  made  the  same  pass. 
Again  Yerington  parried  and  again  en  garde.  A  livid 
anger  began  to  appear  in  Mansur's  face,  and  seeing  it, 
Yerington  grinned.  They  circled,  watching  one  another, 
waiting ;  they  both  knew  that  the  next  attack  would  have 
all  that  hatred  and  skill  could  put  into  it. 

Then  a  voice  came  across  the  silence: 

"  La,  I  protest,  if  they  are  so  well  matched,  we  shall 
wait  here  all  the  night  and  it  will  spoil  the  danc- 
ing." 

A  matronly  "  Hush !  "  admonished  her. 

Mansur  knew  that  his  design  was  understood.  He 
saw  too  that  Lord  Yerington's  temper  was  in  command, 
while  his  own  was  getting  beyond  his  control.  He  ao 
cepted  the  inevitable  and  forced  the  issue. 

A  moment  later  eye  met  eye,  foot  balanced  to  foot, 
and  the  swords  played  in  deadly  earnest.  No  more  smiles 
now.  Death  and  hatred  were  in  the  faces  of  these 
quondam  friends.  As  they  forgot,  the  watching  crowd 
began  to  understand. 

Philida,  who  from  the  first  had  feared  and  trembled, 
screamed  out  suddenly: 

"This  is  no  jest.  Part  them,  I  entreat  you,  gentle- 
men." 

"  It  is  most  damnable  earnest !  "  cried  Walpole. 

The  exclamation  that  reached  the  combatants  only 
served  to  make  them  fight  with  more  grim  determination. 


366  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

They  wished  to  gain  their  end  before  they  were  inter- 
rupted. 

Colonel  Gifford  struck  up  their  swords. 

William  Pitt,  with  his  commanding  presence  and 
dominating  flash  of  the  eye,  stepped  forward. 

"  Shame !  "  he  exclaimed,  lifting  his  arm,  his  voice 
ringing.  "  I  wonder  at  you." 

George  Selwyn  struggled  to  control  Yerington. 

Captain  Darlington  endeavoured  to  bind  Mansur's 
arms,  but  Mansur  was  the  stronger  of  the  two.  He 
was  near  to  frenzy,  flecks  of  foam  appeared  upon  his 
lips.  Raging  like  a  wild  beast,  he  came  within  range  of 
Yerington  and  thrust  at  him  with  a  sword,  of  which 
they  had  not  yet  deprived  him. 

The  women  screamed  shrilly.  Some  clung  to  one  an- 
other; others  swooned;  others  fled  like  partridges  to 
cover. 

The  sword  entered  fairly  near  Lord  Yerington's 
shoulder.  When  it  was  withdrawn,  a  bright  crimson 
spot  appeared  upon  his  blue  velvet  and  spread  gradually. 

Amid  an  expressive  silence  the  men  struggled  to  con- 
trol Mansur,  and  Gilly  Williams  took  possession  of  his 
sword. 

"  This  is  a  most  disgraceful  scene,"  went  on  Mr.  Pitt, 
with  increasing  indignation.  "  The  time  may  come  for 
explanations,  but  now,  methinks,  Yerington,  'tis  best  that 
you  apologise  to  your  lady  guests.  If  this  fellow  has 
spitted  you,  'tis  little  to  be  wondered  at.  He  has  been 
but  true  to  his  kind." 

Mansur  strained  at  the  arms  that  bound  him,  his 
face  crimson  with  passion.  Instinctively  he  turned  at  this 
moment  to  spit  forth  his  venom  again. 

"  Ay,  Mr.  Pitt,  we  animals  are  fashioned  after  our 
kind;  wallow  after  our  kind;  hunt  after  our  kind;  lie 
after  our  kind.  But  what  of  him,  the  peer,  the  aristo- 
.crat?  Lies  he  after  his  kind?  " 


THE    DUEL  367 

"  Silence !  "  commanded  Mr.  Pitt,  his  face  darkening. 
"  We've  heard  too  much  of  you  to-night.  Take  him  out, 
and  let  him  breathe  his  poison  in  the  dark." 

"  Would  you  know  the  name  of  the  peer  who  has  lied 
after  his  kind,"  shouted  Mr.  Mansur,  struggling  with  his 
captors,  "  who  lost  his  fortunes,  and  then  sought  to 
patch  them  up  by  trapping  a  girl  with  his  falsehoods? 
There  he  stands — the  Earl  of  Yerington !  " 

Nobody  moved.  The  words  petrified  them  into  an 
amazed  silence.  A  moment  later  Yerington's  friends  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  attempt,  in  anger,  to  drag  the  rag- 
ing traducer  from  the  room.  One  arm  he  contrived  to 
loosen,  and  with  it  he  pointed  over  their  heads  to  where 
Lord  Yerington  stood,  one  hand  pressed  to  the  spot 
whence  the  blood  was  spreading  slowly. 

"  Look  at  him,"  he  raged,  "  and  say  then  that  I  lied." 

Yerington  raised  his  head  and  his  eyes  met  Mansur's 
steadily. 

But  at  this  instant  the  duchess,  to  whom  the  scene, 
from  her  greater  knowledge  of  the  underlying  conditions 
carried  more  conviction,  swept  forward  and  stood  before 
him. 

"Yerington,"  she  exclaimed,  her  manner  agitated,  "is 
this  true,  then?  Have  you  put  this  trick  upon  us? " 

Her  sudden  attack  overcame  him,  weakened  as  he  was 
by  misery  and  a  sense  of  the  impossibility  of  explana- 
tion. He  realised  that  if  he  should  tell  the  truth  then, 
guilty  in  part  as  he  was,  that  his  words  would  carry 
no  conviction.  He  bit  his  lip  in  silence,  and  still  pressed 
his  hand  to  the  wound,  to  which,  in  the  excitement,  no- 
body had  given  a  second  thought — save  Philida,  who  had 
been  standing  trembling  in  the  background. 

But  when  her  aunt  challenged  him,  she  no  longer 
trembled  and  hesitated.  She  came  forward  and  stood 
before  him,  putting  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The  ob- 
serving world,  which  eritieised  him,  seemed  to  her  a 


368  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

slight  thing  compared  to  the  insinuation  of  a  blot  upon  his 
honour.  She  flashed  round  upon  her  aunt  fearlessly,  his 
only  champion  in  that  atmosphere  upon  which  the  virus 
of  rumour  had  worked. 

"  Deny  it,"  she  pleaded,  "  deny  it!  They  have  doubted 
you." 

Her  splendid  faith  brought  Lord  Yerington  a  wave  of 
joy.  Then  this  died  to  shame,  blacker  by  the  contrast. 
She  looked  at  him,  her  face  glowing  with  perfect  con- 
fidence, but  a  moment  later,  even  her  eyes  could  read  the 
guilt  and  despair  in  his. 

She  stood  regarding  him  in  growing  amazement,  be- 
neath the  observant  eyes  of  the  watching  guests. 

"What?"  she  said  at  last,  uncertainty  appearing  in 
her  tone,  though  her  hand  still  lingered  on  his  shoulder, 
"  you  do  not  speak.  Can  these  things  be  true,  my 
lord?" 

The  agony  of  mind  that  possessed  him  caused  the 
blood  to  flow  with  a  gush  and  crimson  his  fingers.  The 
scene  grew  dark  and  swam  in  his  vision.  He  was  upon 
the  rack.  Her  next  words  came  to  him,  said  softly  be- 
neath her  breath.  His  ears  only  caught  them: 

"  He  does  not  love  me,  then." 

This  thought  alone  had  power  to  drive  her  from  him. 

She  turned,  wavered  upon  her  feet,  and  then  steadily, 
though  her  face  was  white  and  drawn,  she  passed  down 
the  brilliantly  lighted  ballroom,  the  one  moving  figure 
within  it,  and  the  focus  of  all  eyes.  Not  even  the 
duchess  thought  to  speak  to  or  arrest  her.  As  she  turned 
at  the  open  doorway  into  the  hall,  Yerington's  love  and 
yearning  went  out  to  her  in  a  gasping  cry. 

"Philida!" 

He  swayed  and  would  have  fallen,  but  George  Selwyn 
caught  him  in  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XL 

PHILIDA'S   COMING 

I   was   beloved   of   gods   and   men, — 
For  Fortune  smiled  upon  me  then; 
But   Fortune   left  me   in   sad   plight, 
And  not  a  friend  remained  in  sight. 

— GROTIUS. 

IN  the  chestnut  parlour  Lord  Yerington  lay  upon  a 
couch,  while  the  surgeon  attended  him.  The  latter  was 
a  slight  man  in  a  scratch-wig  and  snuff-coloured  frock. 
He  was  bandaging  Lord  Yerington's  shoulder  with  a  sort 
of  fussy  orderliness.  From  time  to  time  the  sound  of 
the  roll  of  coach-wheels  reached  them,  or  the  shuffle  of 
chairmen's  feet.  His  guests  were  still  departing.  They 
had  been  so  numerous  that  the  block  of  waiting  vehicles 
before  the  house  had  caused  some  delay.  No  single  one 
of  his  late  guests  had  offered  to  linger  with  him.  He 
was  condemned  at  the  bar  of  public  opinion.  This  band 
of  pleasant  sinners  had  passed  judgment  upon  him. 

As  he  heard  them  depart,  Lord  Yerington  was  moved 
to  irony. 

"  How  they  hasten,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  "  Prithee, 
good  Mr.  Price,  mark  them." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  soothed  Mr.  Price,  who  was  telling 
himself  in  his  professional  way  that  however  odd  cir- 
cumstances might  look,  they  were  no  business  of  his. 
"  Remember,  your  lordship,  quiet,  perfect  quiet." 

"  I'll  rest  quietly  enough,"  answered  Yerington  grimly, 
as  the  surgeon  pulled  down  his  shirtsleeve. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  crooned  Mr.  Price.     "  Of  course,  of 

369 


370  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

course.  But,  remember,  any  excitement  and  the  arm  will 
be  fevered  directly.  Pardon  me,  your  lordship,"  and  he 
proceeded  to  roll  up  his  apparatus ;  "  but  you  young  bloods 
come  next  to  sickly  babies  in  furnishing  business  to  men 
of  my  calling.  Prithee,  remember  that  I  can  do  but  half, 
and  the  rest  must  lie  with  you." 

"  Mr.  Price,"  said  Yerington  with  a  smile,  "  I'll  make 
you  an  oath  that  a  quieter  patient  than  I'll  be  this  night 
does  not  exist  outside  a  shroud." 

"  Perfectly  right,  perfectly  right.  I  thank  you,  my 
lord,"  answered  Mr.  Price.  "  But  I  cannot  leave  you 
alone.  I  must  give  my  orders." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  Yerington,  lying  back  and  clos- 
ing his  eyes,  for  his  head  was  light  and  he  wished  above 
all  things  to  keep  it  steady  for  the  next  hour.  "  Just  pull 
that  bell-rope,  will  you,  kindly?" 

Mr.  Price  did  so  vigorously,  but  there  was  no  re- 
sponse. 

The  household  was  already  disorganised  and  gossip 
raging  in  the  servants'  quarters.  More  than  once  the 
majordomo  had  vainly  demanded  discipline  in  recogni- 
tion of  his  dignity.  Now,  when  he  observed  that  amid 
the  excitement  below  stairs,  the  bell-ringing  had  escaped 
notice,  it  occurred  to  him,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  to  an- 
swer it  personally.  Therefore,  it  was  he  who  appeared 
in  his  trim  black,  after  a  prolonged  delay,  in  the  chestnut 
parlour. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  cried  Yerington  as  he  entered ;  "  you, 
Walsh!  You  look  like  a  mummer  at  a  funeral.  I  pro^ 
test  you  are  a  little  ahead  of  time.  Where  is  Jenkins?  " 

"  Does  your  lordship  not  recall,"  answered  Walsh, 
"  that  his  mother  was  took  ill  most  sudden,  and  that  your 
lordship  gave  him  leave  this  evening,  after  he  had  dressed 
you  for  the  ball  ?  " 

"  Egad,  so  I  did,"  said  Yerington  indifferently.     "  Go 


PHILIDA'S    COMING  3T1 

away,  you  won't  do,  Walsh.  That  crow's  outfit  of  yours 
is  little  to  my  taste,  though,  spud  me,  there's  humour  in 
it,  too." 

Mr.  Price  thought  that  his  patient  wandered  in  his 
mind,  and  he  exchanged  looks  with  Mr.  Walsh,  who 
stood  just  within  the  door. 

"  Go,  Walsh,  arid  send  me  somebody.  Damme,  man, 
the  turnspit  dog  would  do,  methinks.  These  dogs,  Mr. 
Price,  have  an  odd,  ill-considered  trick  of  constancy;  but 
— I  forget — I  am  not  the  cook.  The  cook  is  richer  than 
I  am  by  the  turnspit  dog." 

He  turned  away  from  the  two  waiting  men,  with  an 
indifferent  gesture  of  finality  and  dismissal. 

Mr.  Walsh  thought  now  his  opportunity  had  come  and 
he  advanced  an  obsequious  step  or  two. 

"  May  I  entreat  your  lordship  to  remember,"  he  began 
with  an  unctuous  air,  "  that  a  poor  man's  only  fortune 
is  his  character,  and  I  beg  that  your  lordship  will  give  me 
as  good  a  one  as  lies  within  your  lordship's  conscience. 
I  have  been  faithful — and  long  in  your  service " 

Yerington's  inert  figure  was  moved  to  sudden  energy. 
He  roused  himself  and  looked  at  the  man  in  black,  who 
stood  bowing  and  rubbing  his  hands,  near  the  'door. 
Then  he  reached  out  one  long  arm  for  a  priceless  trifle 
in  gold  and  lapis  lazuli,  that  stood  upon  a  table  near  by. 
With  unerring  aim  it  flew  straight  at  Mr.  Walsh's  head. 
That  worthy  dodged  into  the  hall.  Lord  Yerington  lay 
back,  laughing  softly. 

"  One  must  not  heed  the  bite  of  every  louse,  Mr. 
Price,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Price  continued  to  roll  up  his  bandages  arid  to 
pack  his  little  case. 

A  physician  lives  most  of  his  existence,  facing  the  odd 
cross-stitches  and  seams  of  life.  He  was  puzzled,  but 
he  was  still  telling  himself  that  it  was  no  affair  of  his. 


372  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

Beneath  Yerington's  manner  his  trained  eye  detected  the 
abandon  of  a  man  on  the  verge  of  recklessness  and  despair. 
Just  so  had  he  seen  a  patient  act,  upon  whom  he  himself 
had  passed  the  death  sentence.  Though  he  washed  his 
hands  of  any  consequences,  which  lay  within  Lord  Yer- 
ington's jurisdiction,  his  professional  conscience  demanded 
that  he  should  do  his  best  within  his  own. 

"  Here  are  the  drops,  my  lord,"  he  said,  in  his  precise 
way,  that  sat  oddly  at  variance  with  his  untidy  dress, 
and  the  traces  of  snuff  upon  his  ruffles.  "  If  there  is  no 
one  here  to  take  my  orders  then,  prithee,  read  the  di- 
rections upon  the  label.  Well,  well,  well!  To  be  sure! 
to  be  sure!  And  may  I  venture  to  add  that  it's  scarce 
becoming  for  a  gentleman  of  your  position  to  be  left 
alone  without  attendance  ?  " 

He  helped  himself  to  a  pinch  of  snuff  from  a  Japanned 
box,  looking  at  his  patient  and  gently  smiling,  as  he  did 
so,  as  if  he  were  a  child  whose  fretfulness  he  was  seeking 
to  appease. 

"  My  very  kind  Mr.  Price,"  returned  Yerington,  "  this 
is  a  mere  scratch.  You'd  have  blooded  me  as  much  for 
a  touch  of  the  spleen." 

Still  dissatisfied,  the  surgeon  watched  him  uncertainly. 

There  came  a  slight  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  burn  you !  "  cried  Yerington,  impatiently. 

It  was  opened  to  reveal  two  lackeys  standing  on  the 
threshold.  They  appeared  embarrassed  by  their  own 
boldness,  and  it  was  with  marked  diffidence  that  they 
stepped  within  the  room. 

"  If  you  please,  your  lordship,  give  us  leave  to  serve 
you,"  said  one. 

Yerington  regarded   them  with  attention. 

"  Denby,"  he  said,  "  and  Sutter.  I  thank  you,  my 
good  fellows.  Here,  Mr.  Price,  are  two  trusties. 
Prithee,  give  them  your  orders." 


PHILIDA'S    COMING  873 

The  surgeon  complied  and  soon  after  departed. 

Lord  Yerington  now  turned  to  the  two  men,  who 
stood  near  him  with  an  air  of  uncertainty,  embarrassed 
by  their  new  duties  which  brought  them  into  intimate 
contact  with  the  master  who,  in  his  good  fortune,  had 
walked  so  far  apart  from  them. 

"  How  comes  it,  Denby,"  he  asked,  "  that  you  are 
not  below  with  the  others  guzzling  my  champagne  ?  " 

Denby  made  an  eager  movement  and  his  eyes  were 
shining. 

'  'Twas  you,  my  lord,  who  gave  me  the  money  that 
saved  my  wife's  life,"  he  answered. 

"Did  I  really?"  said  Yerington.  "Faith,  I'm  glad 
of  that.  And  she's  quite  recovered  ?  " 

"  Quite,  thanks  to  your  lordship,"  answered  the  man. 

Lord  Yerington  turned  to  the  other. 

"  And  now  you,  Sutter,  what  claim  have  I  on  you  ?  " 

Sutter  had  the  eye  of  an  enthusiast. 

"  Your  lordship  may  recall  Master  Broughton  and  his 
booth  in  Tottenham  Court  Road.  A  brave  man  and  a 
skilful  with  his  fists  is  Master  Broughton  and  the 
greatest  boxers  in  England  owe  their  fame  to  his  teach- 
ing." 

"  Doubtless,  doubtless,  my  good  Sutter,"  answered 
Yerington.  "  I  myself  have  some  slight  knowledge  of 
his  methods." 

"  Your  lordship  may  recall,"  continued  Sutter,  his 
manner  growing  in  enthusiasm,  "  that  one  day  he  chal- 
lenged any  man  in  England  to  stand  up  against  him. 
I  was  there,  my  lord,"  he  took  a  step  nearer  in  his  ex- 
citement, "and  I  saw  you  lay  him  out  with  claret  run- 
ning from  his  nose  and  ears.  The  other  gentlemen  of 
quality  came  masked,  and  they  went  down  before  him; 
but  you,  my  lord,  fought  him  with  a  bare  face.  You 
were  not  ashamed,  and  you  won  against  all  England's 


374  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

champion.  '  That's  the  master  for  me,'  said  I ;  and  I 
never  stopped  a-trying  till  I  got  the  place, — humbly 
begging  your  lordship's  pardon  for  my  freedom  of 
speech." 

Lord  Yerington  considered  the  two  men  thoughtfully. 
He  owed  their  loyalty  to  him  to  a  lightly  bestowed  and 
completely  forgotten  impulse  of  kindliness  and  to  a  dare- 
devil escapade  with  which  the  town  had  rung.  It 
would  seem  as  if  here  then  lay  the  harvest  of  his 
years. 

"  I  thank  you  both,"  he  said  at  length.  "  From  my 
heart,  I  thank  you.  And  now,  I  pray  you,  leave  me  to 
myself." 

The  men  exchanged  glances. 

"  But  may  we  not  make  bold  to  serve  you,"  said 
Denby,  "as  Mr.  Jenkins  is  away?" 

Yerington  reflected  before  he  answered. 

"  Yes,  remain  in  the  hall  below.  I  may  have  need 
of  you  anon." 

They  departed,  visibly  uncertain  of  the  wisdom  of 
their  course.  The  ruined  noblemen  of  that  day  so  fre- 
quently chose  a  brief  and  desperate  exit  from  their  diffi- 
culties that  the  fear  of  suicide  was  in  the  minds  of 
both. 

Left  to  himself,  Yerington's  first  act  was  to  rise  and 
take  his  pistols  from  a  closet  in  the  panelling.  He 
smiled  as  he  recalled  the  fact  that  he  was  repeating  here 
in  Grangely  House  the  scene  he  had  formerly  enacted 
at  Oxholme.  In  all  he  did  he  was  conscious  of  a  dual 
sense,  as  if  he  stood  aside  and  watched  himself.  This 
impression  of  unreality  added  the  last  touch  to  his  mental 
suffering.  Still  with  this  haunting  suggestion  of  keeping 
a  watch  upon  himself,  he  went  to  a  table  and  wrote  a 
few  lines  to  Philida.  These  lines  were  brief,  and  when 
he  had  written  them  he  sat  with  his  head  upon  his 


PHILIDA'S    COMING  375 

hands.  He  was  struggling  with  this  same  curious  petre- 
faction  of  the  spirit.  Even  Philida  seemed  far  away; 
the  step  he  meant  to  take  dwarfed  and  unimportant. 

"  God,"  he  cried  aloud,  "  let  me  at  least  live  until  I 
die!  What  is  this  creeping  death  of  sensibility?  " 

It  was  but  the  apathy  following  a  blow  that  had 
cleaved  his  life  to  its  core. 

His  next  move  was  to  carry  his  pistols,  primed  and 
cocked,  to  the  chimney-piece  and  set  them  'down  below 
the  mirror;  then  he  continued  his  preparations.  He 
moved  the  candlesticks  to  where  the  light  would  be 
best  for  his  purpose.  As  he  lifted  his  arm,  he  gave  an 
annoyed  exclamation.  The  bandages  hampered  his 
movements.  He  tore  them  aside  unthinkingly,  and  did 
not  wince  at  the  pain  in  his  wound,  from  which  the 
blood  flowed,  the  stain  spreading  over  his  white  shirt. 
These  bandages  would  be  useless  a  moment  later,  and 
now  they  incommoded  him.  Again  he  raised  his  arm. 

There  came  a  hurried  knocking  at  the  door.  He 
heard  it,  but  it  only  made  him  resolve  upon  haste. 

"  Carefully,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  you  must  not 
bungle." 

The  gentleman  who  had  walked  with  him  that  night 
through  these  waiting  rooms  now  looked  back  at  him, 
blood-stained,  but  resolute. 

"  Let  me  in !  "  cried  a  voice  filled  with  entreaty. 

Yerington  doubted  his  ears. 

The  knocking  had  changed  to  the  soft  sound  of  palms 
beaten  desperately  against  the  door. 

"  Oh,  I  beseech  you,  let  me  enter,"  said  the  same 
voice. 

Yerington  went  hastily  to  the  escritoire  and  laid  down 
the  pistol  in  an  inconspicuous  position.  He  then  donned 
a  long,  crimson  brocade  morning-gown,  which  had  been 
brought  to  the  chestnut  parlour  when  he  had  been  con- 


376  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

veyed  there,  wounded.  Then  he  went  to  the  door  and 
opened  it. 

Upon  the  threshold  stood  Philida. 

She  had  covered  her  white  dress  with  a  long-hooded 
mantle.  As  she  stepped  into  the  room  the  hood  fell 
back.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  look  at  him  with  a  sort 
of  horrified  interrogation,  and  then  to  glance  searchingly 
about  the  room. 

"  You  are  alone,"  she  half  whispered. 

At  the  sight  of  her  all  the  ice  melted  from  about  his 
heart.  He  became  upon  the  instant  alive  in  every  pulse. 
A  soft  happiness  rushed  over  him,  a  profound  content. 
He  watched  her  silently,  every  feature,  every  detail  of 
her  dress,  each  of  her  movements,  growing  upon  him 
with  a  sense  of  encompassing  importance.  He  had  no 
wish  to  speak.  He  sought  to  breathe  in  the  delight  of  her 
presence;  to  revel  to  the  full  in  the  brief  ecstasy  of  this 
reprieve. 

She  had  addressed  him  twice  before  he  noticed  it. 
Somewhat  reassured  by  his  appearance,  a  growing  agita- 
tion took  possession  of  her. 

"  My  lord,"  she  faltered,  "  my  lord " 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  answered,  his  voice  all  tender 
with  his  love. 

At  the  words  and  the  tone,  into  her  face  came  a 
sudden  aloofness. 

"  I  understood,  Lord  Yerington,  that  you  were 
wounded  and  alone.  I  feared " 

She  bit  her  lip  and  fought  her  fear  into  silence. 

He  stood  motionless,  watching  her,  a  half  smile  upon 
his  face. 

"  And  so,  sweet  Saint  Elizabeth,  ever  present  where 
there's  need  of  help,  you  came." 

"  Pray,  make  no  mistake,  sir,"  she  said,  "  I  would 
do  as  much  for  my  dog  if  he  was  wounded." 


PHILIDA'S    COMING  377 

She  had  never  looked  more  lovely  than  she  did  as 
she  turned  to  him  with  a  flash  in  her  eyes. 

"  Believe  me,  I  understand,"  he  answered,  thought- 
fully. 

"  You  must  not  mistake  my  pity  for "  As  she 

stumbled  over  the  unsaid  words  a  sweep  of  crimson  dyed 
her  face  from  chin  to  brow. 

Again  he  answered  softly:  "  I  understand.  Don't  be- 
grudge me  this  glimpse  of  you,  or  think  I  misinterpret 
your  self-forgetting  pity.  From  my  heart  I  thank 
you." 

He  regarded  her,  a  new  expression  upon  his  face, 
something  rarer  and  higher  than  had  before  appeared 
there. 

For  an  instant  she  paused,  at  a  loss,  wavered  and  half 
turned  toward  the  door.  But  she  could  not  leave  him 
until  she  had  been  reassured. 

"  And  your  wound  ?  "  she  asked,  scarcely  above  her 
breath,  her  eyes  searching  his  face. 

"  As  men  count  wounds,  'tis  the  veriest  scratch,"  he 
answered. 

Again  she  turned  away  from  him. 

Suddenly,  as  he  watched  her,  it  was  as  if  a  cloud 
lifted.  They  no  longer  stood  alone  in  the  great  world. 
His  mind  reached  out  to  the  crowded  town  and  he 
seemed  to  hear  the  babble  of  many  voices. 

"  Who  saw  you  enter  here  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  harsh- 
ness in  his  tone  that  she  misunderstood. 

"  Only  the  two  lackeys  in  the  hall,"  she  answered, 
mentally  searching  for  his  thought. 

The  next  instant  he  left  the  room. 

Sutter  and  Denby  answered  his  summons  immedi- 
ately. They  had  been  standing  whispering  together. 

"  The  Lady  Philida  Wentworth  came  here  seeking 
her  grace  the  Duchess  of  Croome.  Her  grace  will 


378  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

doubtless  arrive  within  the  moment.  Relight  the  can- 
dles in  the  hall  and  in  the  white  withdrawing-room, 
and  wait  below  until  I  ring." 

The  men  bowed  respectfully  and  turned,  intent  upon 
his  command.  He  checked  them  with  a  word. 

"  I  can  trust  you  ?  "  he  said. 

There  was  something  in  his  face  that  impelled  their 
confidence. 

"  On  our  lives,"  answered  Denby,  earnestly. 

Lord  Yerington  returned  to  the  chestnut  parlour  to 
discover  Philida  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
her  hands  clasped  before  her  face.  Her  cloak  had  slipped 
from  her  shoulders,  revealing  her  white  gown  beneath, 
but  she  did  not  heed  it. 

The  cloud  had  lifted  from  her  world,  also,  and  some- 
thing of  his  thought  she  had  perceived. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done,  what  have  I  done! "  she  half 
sobbed. 

He  drew  a  step  nearer  to  her,  his  face  soft. 

"  An  act  of  purest  mercy,"  he  answered. 

"  It  was  unmaidenly,"  she  cried. 

"  It  was  better  still, — it  was  womanly." 

She  shrank  from  him,  fumbling  for  her  cloak. 

"  I  must  be  off,"  she  said,  "  I  must  be  off.  I  must 
not  linger  here." 

Her  movements  were  confused,  pitifully  uncertain,  as, 
torn  by  conflicting  impulses,  she  went  blindly  towards 
the  door. 

When  he  saw  her  going,  a  sudden  unreasoning  rush 
of  revolt  came  over  him;  a  despair  that  thrust  all  con- 
siderations aside;  a  consuming  longing  for  a  few  mo- 
ments more  of  her  society.  His  chivalry  was  forgotten  in 
his  selfish  pain. 

"Don't  go,"  he  besought;  "I  entreat  you  to  stay  a 
little  longer,  my  dearest  lady." 


PHILIDA'S    COMING  379 

If  she  had  still  believed  in  his  love  for  her,  she  would 
have  had  the  key  to  his  manner. 

She  stood  shrinking,  one  hand  pressed  against  the 
panelled  wall. 

"  You  forget,  my  lord !  Your  right  is  forfeit  now  to 
say  such  words  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  forget,"  he  answered  passionately,  "  I  forget 
everything  save  that  you  are  there,  and  I  am  here.  You, 
Philida,  and  I.  They  are  all  my  life,  these  little,  little 
moments.  And  yet  you  would  go  and  leave  me  with  my 
despair." 

She  could  not  read  the  riddle.  The  clue  by  which 
she  should  have  been  guided,  had  been  broken  that 
night  in  the  ballroom;  but,  at  his  last  words  she 
started. 

"  Yes,  I  must  leave  you,"  she  said,  slowly ;  "  but  de- 
spair is  for  the  weak." 

He  flung  wide  a  reckless,  beseeching  arm. 

"  Weak,"  he  echoed ;  "  be  that  as  it  may,  but  stay." 

There  was  a  look  in  his  face  that  she  had  never  seen 
there  before.  As  he  stood  barring  her  passage,  he  was 
mad  with  a  longing  for  her  presence,  and  he  was  strug- 
gling desperately  against  the  moment  that  must  take 
her  from  him.  The  shrinking  expression  of  fear  in  her 
face  did  not  move  him.  He  was  possessed  by  one  domi- 
nating thought — that  he  could  not  let  her  go. 

"  I  came  here  trusting  you,"  she  faltered. 

"  Then  let  me  counsel  you  in  the  future,"  he  replied, 
without  changing  his  attitude,  "  trust  not  a  desperate 
man." 

"  O  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ? "  she  said,  suddenly 
breaking  down  and  wringing  her  hands,  looking  child- 
ishly inadequate  and  helpless  standing  before  Lord  Yer- 
ington,  whose  face  grew  more  determined  as  it  grew 
whiter. 


380  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  you  are  to  do.  You  are  to 
sit  there  in  that  chair  by  the  hearth.  See!  The  fire  is 
bright  and  cheery.  Does  it  not  invite  you?  " 

He  moved  towards  it  with  a  gracious,  courtly  gesture 
of  invitation.  Her  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  as  if 
fascinated.  He  had  never  appeared  so  tall  as  he  did  in 
the  crimson  morning-gown,  which  accentuated  the 
breadth  of  his  shoulders.  The  white  powder  of  last 
night's  ball  was  still  upon  his  hair.  Something  in  his 
manner  hinted  to  her  submission.  He  handed  her  to 
the  chair,  which  he  pointed  out.  She  sank  into  it,  lean- 
ing slightly  forward,  every  muscle  tense. 

"  This  is  wrong,"  she  insisted. 

His  reply  was  to  put  out  a  hand  and  with  reverent, 
wondering  fingers,  stroke  one  of  her  shining  curls. 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  she  cried  distressfully. 

He  went  on,  as  if  she  had  not  spoken. 

"  Just  so  it  might  have  been,"  he  said  below  his 
breath,  as  if  he  thought  aloud,  "  if  we  were  married, 
you  and  I  together,  the  curtains  drawn  and  the  world 
shut  out." 

She  was  beginning  to  sob  chokingly  without  tears. 

"  You  used  me  very  ill,  Lord  Yerington,"  she  said. 
"I  cannot  think  why — what  I  have  done ?" 

The  words  died  into  confused  silence. 

"  Poor  little  heart,"  he  said  tenderly,  "  if  I  had  my 
will,  I'd  spare  you  every  pang.  Believe  me,  even  the 
memory  of  this  night  will  pass.  You  will  soon  forget. 
Alas,  the  young  so  soon  forget." 

Misunderstanding  him,  wounded  in  her  pride,  these 
last  words  moved  her. 

"Forget!"  she  cried,  drawing  back  from  him,  "I 
have  no  pang  to  forget.  Think  you  I'll  spend  my  youth, 
or  one  hour  of  it,  in  memory  of  a  man  who  cruelly  used 
me  but  as  a  pawn  in  a  game?  You  mistook  my  coming 


PHILIDA'S    COMING  381 

here  to-night.  I  but  feared  for  you.  As  for  such  pangs, 
believe  me,  my  lord,  they  cure  themselves." 

The  cruelty  of  this  thrust  in  some  degree  recalled  him 
from  the  mood  that  had  been  controlling  him.  For  an 
instant  he  closed  his  eyes  and  gave  a  movement  as  of 
physical  pain.  He  opened  them  to  find  her  bending 
towards  him,  her  expression  transformed. 

"  You  suffer,  my  lord !  "  she  exclaimed. 

He  looked  up  at  her  and  smiled  slightly. 

"  Truth  turned  the  thumbscrews,  and  I  winced,"  he 
said.  "You  have  brought  me  to  myself.  For  that  I 
thank  you.  I  have  kept  you  here  and  against  your  will. 
I  entreat  a  thousand  pardons,  your  ladyship.  You  are 
free." 

He  bowed  before  her. 

In  bewilderment  she  groped  for  her  cloak  and  stood 
drawing  it  about  her. 

"  Go,"  he  said  hoarsely ;  "  go,  while  I  have  strength 
to  send  you." 

Mechanically  he  motioned  her  towards  the  door  with 
a  gesture  which  had  all  his  former  assured  grace. 

"Is  your  ladyship's  chair  below?"  he  asked.  "I 
make  apologies  for  my  forgetfulness.  I  will  do  myself 
the  honour  of  handing  you  into  it." 

He  was  wavering  upon  his  feet  now,  and  his  vision 
was  becoming  obscured.  Mechanically,  he  brushed  a 
hand  across  his  eyes,  determined  to  keep  a  hold  upon 
himself  as  long  as  he  was  still  beneath  her  observation. 
He  caught  hold  upon  his  consciousness  with  an  effort. 
Then  he  realised  he  was  not  equal  to  the  task  he  had 
set  for  himself. 

"  Will  your  ladyship  pardon  me  if  I  delegate  Sutler, 
or  perhaps  Denby?  Methinks  his  name  is  Denby.  The 
night  is  chill,  and  my  wound  is  fresh.  Your  lady- 
ship will  remember,"  he  laughed  weakly,  and  again 


382  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

brushed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  "  the  years  I  have  to 
my  account  and  the  life  I  have  led.  I  am  scarce  an 
oak  seasoned  to  the  storm.  Young  Captain  Darlington 
is  more  suited  to  your  years.  He  would  serve  you  gal- 
lantly. I  am  upon  the  shelf.  Young  Captain  Darling- 
ton— yes,  that  would  be  meet." 

The  sound  of  a  scream  reached  him  faintly. 


CHAPTER   XLI 

AN   EXPOSE 

As  thou  sowest,  so  shalt  thou  reap. 
Smite    and   thou    shalt   smart. 

— RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

A  SENSE  of  weakness,  followed  by  question,  the  pang  of 
awakening  consciousness,  then  a  vague  hovering  sugges- 
tion of  soothing  hands  and  voices. 

Yerington's  eyelids  twitched  and  lifted. 

Within  the  radius  of  his  vision  came  Philida's  face. 
It  was  intent,  earnest  and  absorbed.  Her  ministrations 
had  brought  into  it  a  touch  of  motherhood.  His  wound 
throbbed,  but  he  was  aware  that  about  it  there  was  a 
sensation  of  delicious  coolness.  He  knew  that  his  head 
was  pillowed  upon  her  knee.  He  closed  his  eyes  and  per- 
mitted himself  to  revel  in  a  childlike  sense  of  the  finality 
of  the  moment.  Why  turn  to  the  realities  with  sharp 
birth-pangs  of  reawakening? 

It  was  only  when  she  bent  over  him  until  her  curls 
swept  his  cheek,  and  he  heard  a  distressed  cry  escape  her, 
that  the  instinctive  wish  to  dissipate  her  trouble  roused 
him. 

"Oh,  why,  why  does  he  not  recover?"  he  heard  her 
murmur. 

He  did  not  move,  but  he  looked  up  into  her  face. 

"  I  am  here,"  he  said,  scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

At  this  there  was  a  movement  in  the  room.  Some  one 
had  been  present  who,  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  left  with 
careful  haste. 

Philida  raised  her  head.  "You  are  better,"  she  said 
383 


384  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

tremulously,  "you  were  bleeding  so  'dreadfully  all  that 
while." 

He  could  feel  her  shudder. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  change  his  position,  but  lay 
back  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  dreamily  on  her  face. 

There  was  question  in  her  eyes.  He  could  see  her 
lips  quiver.  Surely  this  was  love  she  was  telling  herself, 
not  daring  to  believe. 

He  was  lying  upon  the  hearthrug  where  he  had  fallen. 
The  fire-glow  danced  over  them,  ruddying  the  round  of 
her  cheek.  Near  by  was  some  blood-stained  linen,  a  basin 
of  cold  water  tinged  with  red,  and  a  sponge.  His 
shoulder  had  been  skilfully  bound.  Such  simple  surgery 
was  a  part  of  a  woman's  education  and,  amongst  the 
villagers,  Philida  had  often  played  nurse  to  more  serious 
troubles. 

At  this  instant  a  clock  chimed  one.  They  did  not 
heed  it. 

She  put  an  envigorating  draught  to  his  lips. 

"  Prithee,  drink,"  she  said,  coaxingly. 

He  obeyed  with  reluctance.  He  had  no  will  to  get 
back  to  his  problems  with  his  returning  strength. 

"  What  happened  ? "  he  asked  faintly,  fighting  for 
time. 

"  Alas,"  she  cried,  "  your  wound  had  been  torn  open ; 
the  bandages  had  slipped.  You  had  lost  much  blood  and 
fainted.  I  fear,"  she  hesitated,  "  that  I  judged  you  a 
little.  I  realise  you  scarce  were  conscious  of  what  you 
said  after  I  came."  She  coloured  delicately.  Some  doubt 
of  him  had  entered  her  mind.  She  felt  his  hard  deter- 
mination to  hold  her  there  against  her  will,  and  she  was 
grasping  eagerly,  with  penitence,  at  this  excuse  for  him. 

He  looked  back  at  her  without  replying.  He  thought 
it  possible  that  at  last,  before  the  insensibility  overcame 
him,  his  mind  might  have  wandered;  but,  for  the  rest, 


AN    EXPOSE  385 

mad  he  might  have  been,  but  conscious.  It  was  hunger 
for  her  nearness  that  made  him  lie  back,  with  affected 
helplessness,  while  into  his  vigorous  frame  the  tingle  of 
life  was  creeping  with  increased  insistence. 

He  was  soon  to  have  need  of  this  strength. 

A  hurried  knock  sounded,  which  was  followed  by 
Denby's  entrance  into  the  ropm  with  a  startling  lack  of 
ceremony. 

"  My  lord,  my  lord,"  he  exclaimed  excitedly,  "  her 
grace  is  below,  and  pardon  me,  your  ladyship,  but  she  is 
most  awful  put  about.  Sutter  is  taking  her  by  the  long 
hall,  or  her  grace  would  have  been  here  without  warn- 
ing.'^ 

With  a  curiously  sudden  increase  of  strength,  Yering- 
ton  was  upon  his  feet,  and  had  slipped  on  once  more  the 
crimson  brocade  morning-gown.  He  threw  himself  into 
a  chair  in  instant  assumption  of  the  role  of  invalid,  which 
role,  his  instinct  told  him,  he  had  best  play  with  finish. 

When,  in  his  worldly  wisdom,  he  looked  towards 
Philida  to  suggest  a  mode  of  action,  or  to  provide  her 
with  a  cue  to  follow,  he  was  reproached  by  the  pure,  glad 
simplicity  of  her  face.  She  was  welcoming  the  duchess. 
The  burden  of  her  anxiety  for  him  and  her  sole  responsi- 
bility in  his  need  had  weighed  upon  her  heavily. 

At  this  instant  her  Grace  of  Croome  struck  the  room 
like  a  whirlwind.  With  her  great  sweeping  skirts  and 
her  high  headdress  she  was  a  formidable  figure  under  any 
circumstances,  but  now,  magnified  by  her  wrath,  she  was 
a  power  to  reckon  with. 

Behind  her  came  the  slight,  elegant  form  of  Horace 
Walpole,  his  attitude  breathing  discretion;  his  eyes  be- 
seeching pardon ;  and  his  manner  deprecating  his  partici- 
pation in  this  scene  upon  which,  nevertheless,  he  would 
soon  be  composing  witty  comments. 

The  sight  of  the  duchess  and  her  entirely  justifiable 


386  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

anger  brought  Yerington  to  his  feet.  The  storm  of  her 
indignation  blew  out  the  flickering  flame  of  his  invalid- 
ism  by  its  honest  violence.  He  had  been  wrong  in  keep- 
ing Philida,  and  he  rose  now  to  acknowledge  it  like  a 
man. 

"  Can  I  believe  my  eyes  ?  "  gasped  the  duchess.  "  Here 
she  is,  Horry.  Here  she  is,  in  the  very  house  which,  if 
she  had  a  grain  of  pride  or  spirit,  to  say  nothing  of  pru- 
dence, she'd  avoid  as  if  it  contained  the  pest.  And  you, 
sir,  what  have  you  to  say?  "  turning  sharply  to  Yerington. 

Philida  had  stood  dumfounded,  hurt,  and  amazed  at 
her  aunt's  words.  The  sense  of  her  impudence  in  coming 
there,  which  for  a  moment  had  overwhelmed  her,  had 
been  forgotten  amid  her  anxiety  for  him.  Now,  as  the 
duchess  turned  and  challenged  Yerington,  she  ran  to  her 
in  an  involuntary  impulse  of  defence. 

"  Nay,  madam,"  she  entreated,  "  'do  not  reproach  him. 
I  am  all  to  blame." 

"  Indeed  and  indeed!  "  replied  the  duchess.  "  I'll  have 
you  know,  you  little  minx,  I'll  reproach  whom  it  pleases 
me.  Where  learned  you  your  manners,  my  lady?  Not 
in  my  house,  I'll  warrant  you.  To  run  away  at  dead  of 
night  to  the  man  who'd  cheated  you,  and  flouted  you,  and 
made  you  the  laughing-stock  of  London.  Now,  must 
you  throw  your  good  name  after  the  rest?  You — you — 
I've  no  words  to  tell  you  what  I  think.  Horace  Wai- 
pole,  be  a  man  for  once  in  your  life  and  tell  her  what 
she's  doing." 

Mr.  Walpole  shrugged  conciliating,  expressive 
shoulders.  He  knew  he  held  only  the  position  of  talking- 
post  to  the  aggravated  duchess,  and  that  words  were  the 
last  assistance  she  'desired. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands  in  genuine  dis- 
tress, and  unselfish  concern  for  Philida,  while  she  be- 
rated her,  "you  brainless  doll,  you  simpleton,  you  dolt! 


AN    EXPOSE  387 

This  comes  of  your  having  your  own  way.  Think  you 
that  London  is  like  a  green  field  of  daisies,  this  hour  like 
midday,  and  such  rakes  as  Yerington  as  harmless  as  sheep  ? 
Oh,  Lord,  Lord, — and  'tis  partly  my  fault,  too." 

The  cry  with  which  she  ended,  with  a  break  in  her 
voice  that  was  near  to  tears,  touched  Yerington. 

Philida  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  a 
trace  of  pride  appearing  above  her  dismay.  Wrong  she 
had  been  and  she  was  prepared  for  penitence,  one  kind 
word  would  have  sent  her  sobbing  to  her  aunt's  shoulder, 
but  this  excess  of  reproach  she  could  not  understand. 

"  Believe  me,  your  grace,"  said  Yerington,  "  you  may 
comfort  yourself.  My  fortunes  are  at  ebb,  and  my 
honour  has  a  blot  upon  it  too  dark  and  recent  to  require 
the  prick  of  mention  to  present  it  to  your  memory;  but 
a  trusting,  noble  innocence  I  still  can  recognise  and  rever- 
ence." 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  answered  the  duchess,  "  but 
her  coming  here  is  known." 

"  Only  to  two  servants  I  can  trust,"  he  answered 
gravely. 

"  But  what  of  the  chairmen  ?  " 

"  They  were  my  own  men,"  said  Philida,  "  Jones  and 
Watson." 

The  duchess  gave  a  relieved  sigh  at  the  names,  for  she 
knew  they  worshipped  Philida  and  could  be  relied  upon. 

"  Well,  fortune  favours  fools,"  she  said.  "  Be  on  with 
your  cloak,  Philida,  and  let  us  go.  But  how  came  it  that 
she  stayed  so  long?" 

Her  eyes  challenged  Yerington's  with  renewed  sus- 
picion. 

For  the  third  time  since  her  coming,  Philida  resumed 
her  cloak.  As  she  did  so  her  eyes  were  so  filled  with  tears 
that  the  room  shone  mistily  through  them.  She  was  striv- 
ing to  suppress  her  sobs,  and  was  glad  to  turn  her  back 


388  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

upon  Lord  Yerington,  for  she  feared  that  he  would  per- 
ceive her  distress.  She  was  going  away  and  there  had 
been  no  explanation.  A  hope  had  dawned  in  her  heart  that 
if  he  would  but  speak,  something  he  could  say  would  give 
the  present  case  a  better  complexion.  Once  she  left  she 
feared  there  would  not  again  be  an  opportunity  for  ex- 
planation. 

Lord  Yerington  did  not  immediately  reply  to  the 
duchess'  question.  The  thought  of  his  approaching 
separation  from  Philida  crowded  every  other  consideration 
from  his  mind.  A  moment  later,  by  an  effort,  he  with- 
drew his  eyes  from  her  face  and  schooled  himself  to  her 
defence. 

"  Your  niece  hath  played  good  Samaritan,"  he  said. 
"  The  bandages  upon  this  trifling  wound  of  mine  had  be- 
come 'disarranged.  I  scarce  gave  heed  to  them,  but  it 
seems  I  lost  much  blood  and  fainted.  But  for  her,  and 
her  merciful  assistance,  I  might  have  slipped  easily  out  of 
an  awkward  position." 

Traces  of  his  mental  suffering  appeared  upon  his  face. 

For  an  instant  the  duchess  pitied  him,  but  she  forced 
this  back  from  open  expression.  Her  worldly-mindedness 
and,  above  all,  her  dread  of  ridicule  outweighed  her  kindly 
impulse.  Yerington's  poverty  she  might  have  forgiven, 
but  his  trick,  as  she  saw  it,  she  would  not. 

"You've  made  a  bad  mess  of  your  life,  Harry,"  she 
said,  studying  him  with  a  not  unfriendly  glance.  "  I'm 
not  blaming  you,  but  you've  done  it.  Now,  I  put  it  to 
your  honour  to  leave  this  child  alone.  She  does  not 
realise  what  all  this  means,  but  you  do;  I  do.  You  will 
not  interfere,  you  promise  me  ?  " 

He  drew  himself  up,  careless  of  the  bound  shoulder. 
But  before  he  could  speak  Philida  had  darted  past  him. 

"  Oh,  aunt,"  she  cried,  "  I  beseech  you  to  say  nothing 
unkind." 


AN    EXPOSE  989 

One  look  at  the  girl's  face  hardened  the  duchess.  The 
danger  was  obvious.  She  determined  to  rouse  Yering- 
ton's  pride  and  to  obtain  his  promise. 

"  Silence,  you  baby,"  she  said  to  Philida.  "  As  for 
you,  Yerington,  there's  no  such  useless  lumber  in  the 
realm  as  a  peer  without  estates.  I'd  spare  you,  if  I  could, 
but  truth  is  truth." 

Lord  Yerington  steadied  himself  with  an  effort.  All 
his  pride  was  in  arms,  but  for  the  moment  he  could  not 
give  it  voice. 

"  Upon  my  life,"  interposed  Walpole  at  the  sight 
of  his  friend's  face,  "  why  do  we  never  prate  of  truth 
until  we  have  something  disagreeable  to  say?  Yering- 
ton is  ill ;  has  been  wounded." 

The  duchess  was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  Philida,"  she  persisted.  "  If  you 
married  her,  Yerington,  you  would  be  but  a  pensioner 
upon  her  bounty." 

He  smiled  faintly. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  articulating  with  difficulty,  "  Fate 
had  trumped  my  last  trick  before  I  ever  ventured  upon 
this  disastrous  voyage.  Your  niece  need  fear  no  persecu- 
tion from  me." 

A  faint  little  cry  followed  this  assertion,  after  which 
came  the  sound  of  suppressed  weeping.  Philida  had  been 
tried  beyond  her  strength. 

"  Oh,  aunt,"  she  cried  and,  striving  to  hide  her  face 
in  her  shoulder,  "  take  me  away,  take  me  away  from 
here." 

Yerington  did  not  glance  up.  He  hoped  dully  that, 
when  he  did  so,  the  girl  whom  he  loved  would  no 
longer  be  there.  Each  succeeding  moment  had  increased 
his  misery.  But  he  roused  himself  to  discover  that  Wal- 
pole had  stolen  to  the  door  and  that  the  duchess  was 
watching  him  with  an  alert  expression,  over  her  niece's 


390          'A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

head.  One  of  his  hands  was  uplifted  in  warning,  his 
eyes  were  sparkling  and  there  was  a  whimsical  smile  upon 
his  lips. 

"  Friends,"  he  whispered,  "  a  strange  commotion  is 
without.  It  sounds  a  second  Thermopylae  and  that  Sutter 
holds  the  staircase  against  a  host." 

His  amused  smile  deepened  within  the  limits  of  'discre- 
tion at  the  sight  of  the  duchess'  dismay.  Involuntarily 
she  swept  Philida  into  her  protecting  embrace. 

Yerington  felt  real  alarm.  He  realised  that  the  room 
had  but  one  door  and  that  Philida's  presence  there  was 
compromising. 

"  Good  Heavens !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  "  we  must 
not  be  discovered  here." 

She  cast  a  despairing  glance  around. 

"  I  fear  Sutter  yields,"  whispered  Walpole. 

He  was  enjoying  the  situation  and  its  possibilities. 
He  had  recognised  a  voice. 

"  Perhaps  the  screen  will  serve,"  suggested  Yerington. 

With  amazing  agility,  the  duchess  disappeared  behind 
it,  pushing  Philida  before  her. 

"Shall  I  stay?"  asked  Walpole. 

Yerington  reflected  a  moment.  Amid  the  raised  tones 
of  the  altercation  without,  he,  too,  had  heard  a  voice  he 
knew. 

"  No,  I  thank  you  sincerely,  Walpole,"  he  answered, 
his  brows  knit.  "  I  prithee,  join  the  duchess." 

"  A  whisper  will  summon  me,"  answered  Walpole, 
and  he  vanished  with  alacrity. 

At  this  moment  Sutter  entered  precipitately.  It  would 
appear  that  he  had  had  an  opportunity  to  display  his 
favourite  art  of  self-defence,  for  his  livery  was  disar- 
ranged, and  his  wig  awry  above  his  excited  face.  He 
sought  to  hold  the  door  against  somebody  who  was  trying 
to  force  his  way  in. 


AN    EXPOSE  391 

"  I've  done  my  best,  your  lordship,"  he  gasped. 

There  was  another  violent  effort  from  without.  Sutter 
yielded  to  the  impact. 

Into  the  room  tumbled  a  confused  tangle  of  scarlet 
coat,  white  leggings  and  striped  yellow  and  black. 
Gradually,  amid  the  upheaval,  Yerington  distinguished 
the  figure  of  his  friend  Captain  Elliot,  who,  with  venge- 
ful face  and  set  lips,  was  struggling  with  the  waspishly 
clad  Mr.  Mansur.  Slowly,  with  ruthless  determination 
he  overcame  him  and,  bringing  him  to  his  feet,  he  pinned 
him  to  the  panelling,  a  strong  hand  wound  into  the  wine- 
stained  ruffles  of  his  neck-cloth. 

He  had  a  spare  moment  now  to  turn  a  quick,  observant 
eye  over  his  shoulder  upon  Yerington,  who  was  standing 
an  amazed  spectator  of  the  scene. 

"  Sound,  Harry?  "  he  asked. 

"  As  a  trivet,"  responded  the  earl,  who,  indeed,  for 
the  moment,  had  utterly  forgotten  his  wounded  shoul- 
der. 

"  Good,"  returned  Elliot.  "  Quiet,  you  dog,"  as  Man- 
sur made  a  renewed  struggle;  and  the  neck-cloth  was 
twisted  tighter. 

Elliot  had  lost  his  wig,  and  his  crisp,  auburn  curls 
stood  erect  upon  his  head  like  the  hair  along  the  spine  of 
an  angry  dog.  His  strong  teeth  were  revealed  in  a 
smile  half  savage,  half  triumphant.  The  military  full- 
dress  in  which  he  had  attended  the  King,  was  disarranged, 
and  a  jagged  tear  on  the  right  shoulder  revealed  the 
shirt  beneath. 

Mr.  Mansur  leaned  against  the  wall,  breathing  heavily. 
His  hair,  grey-powdered  for  last  night's  ball,  was  about 
his  ears. 

He  had  been  as  much  overcome  by  his  own  ill-con- 
sidered rage,  and  the  wine  to  which  he  was  not  addicted, 
but  to  which  he  had  turned  in  his  hopelessness,  as  he  had 


392  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

been  by  any  superior  strength  of  the  Captain's.  He  now 
appeared,  blustering  and  brutal,  the  intellectual  quality 
of  his  face  for  the  moment  in  total  eclipse. 

"  I've  brought  the  fox  to  earth,"  said  Elliot  vindic- 
tively. "  To  heel,  to  heel,"  as  Mansur  struggled  again. 
"  No  more  tricks." 

Yerington's  thoughts  flew  to  Philida,  and  he  was  in- 
wardly fuming  at  this  scene,  which  threatened  disclosure. 
He  felt  a  friend's  privilege  of  annoyance. 

"  Take  your  fox  hence,"  he  said  curtly.  "  I've  no 
appetite  for  him  or  his  kind,  now." 

Impelled  by  a  double  desire  to  conserve  his  strength, 
and  keep  the  screen  beyond  the  field  of  the  encounter,  he 
seated  himself  before  it. 

Captain  Elliot's  only  response  was  a  low  laugh. 

He  was  making  an  investigation  of  Mr.  Mansur's 
clothing. 

"  Slowly,  slowly,"  he  warned,  "  let  me  draw  your 
poison,  my  pretty  fellow,  mon  petit  mditre.  Gad",  there 
you  are,  Yerington." 

Something  slid  into  the  centre  of  the  room,  spinning 
over  the  polished  boards,  and  then  lay  shining,  the  fire- 
light dyeing  it  to  a  false,  bloody  crimson. 

A  low  cry,  instantly  smothered,  came  from  behind  the 
screen. 

"  A  dagger  and  unsheathed,  'fore  George,"  commented 
Captain  Elliot,  grimly.  "  Your  body,  Yerington,  was  to 
mend  that  lack." 

Mansur's  last  pretence  was  gone.  He  lay  back,  glar- 
ing hungrily  at  the  knife. 

Yerington's  lip  curled  contemptuously.  He  was  un- 
moved by  the  incident,  beyond  a  faint  stirring  of  a  satiric 
humour  that  Mansur  had  designed  to  wound  him  where 
alone  he  now  was  vulnerable,  in  striving  to  steal  from 
him  the  only  asset  he  possessed  with  which  he  could  pay 


AN    EXPOSE  393 

his  last  debt  of  honour,  and  he  disliked  that  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  meditated  crime  should  disturb  Philida. 

Thinking  of  the  waiting  women  he  spoke  sharply: 

"  Why  soil  your  hands  with  this  fellow  ?  Let  the  serv- 
ants return  him  to  the  gutter  whence  he  crawled." 

A  growl  of  fierce  anger  burst  from  Mansur. 

"  Coward !  "  he  shouted,  "  coward !  " 

Yerington  lightly  wiped  his  lips  to  conceal  an  in- 
voluntary expression  of  dismay.  Above  all  things  he 
wished  for  the  present  to  keep  knowledge  of  that  wager 
from  those  women  in  hiding. 

"Gad's  life,  Hugh,"  he  urged,  "out  with  this  fellow! 
Why  parley?" 

A  look  of  concentrated  attention  had  appeared  in  Cap- 
tain Elliot's  face.  His  ears  were  marvellously  acute, 
trained  in  long,  patient  marches  against  lurking  Indian 
foes.  He  had  heard  the  faint  cry  and  something  more. 
He  had  detected  the  silken  rustle  of  women's  skirts.  His 
keen  eyes  now  perceived,  in  an  angle  of  the  panelled  wall, 
a  shining  whiteness  reflected,  for  which  the  furnishing  of 
the  room  did  not  account,  and  a  blot  of  glowing  crimson. 
As  he  saw  it,  he  recalled  the  swish  of  a  gown  of  that 
tint,  one  fete  evening  as  the  duchess  had  swept  down  her 
withdrawing- room. 

There  was  the  gleam  of  a  new  resolve  in  his  face  as  he 
turned  again  to  Mansur.  Once  for  all,  he  told  himself, 
he  must  clear  away  the  ground. 

Not  for  an  instant  since  the  news  of  the  strange  duel 
had  reached  him  in  Buckingham  Palace,  had  the  thought 
of  the  wager  been  out  of  his  mind.  He  had  been  cold 
with  fear  for  Yerington  as  he  had  bounded  up  the  steps 
of  Grangely  House.  Coming  on  Mansur  lurking  there 
in  the  shadows  had  for  the  moment  turned  his  thoughts 
into  another  channel. 

With  Yerington  lying  back  in  his  chair,  white,  and 


894  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

obviously  much  exhausted,  and  Mansur's  wine-tainted 
breath  upon  his  cheek,  he  reviewed  his  facts  and  his  sus- 
picions and  resolved  upon  his  course. 

"  So  you  add  murder  to  your  other  gifts,"  he  said 
tauntingly,  to  gain  time. 

"  Put  him  out,  man,  put  him  out,"  urged  Yerington, 
his  thoughts  full  of  Philida  and  fearing  Mansur's  next 
words. 

With  a  quick  movement,  Elliot  flung  the  man  he  had 
been  holding,  from  him.  Mansur  fell  into  a  chair  which 
his  impetus  sent  wheeling  across  the  floor,  to  fetch  up 
with  a  jerk  against  the  wainscot. 

He  sputtered  out  an  oath  and  half  rose.  Then  a  new 
thought  caused  him  to  change  his  purpose.  He  sank  into 
the  chair  again,  affecting  an  attitude  of  impudent  ease. 
Lolling  back  in  it,  his  legs  crossed,  the  obvious  moral 
abandon  of  the  whole  man  was  emphasised.  He  turned 
tauntingly  to  Yerington  and  looked  him  over  deliberately 
with  a  sneer. 

"  What  a  ghost  you  would  make,"  he  said,  the  words 
coming  thickly,  "  what  a  jolly  old  haunt !  The  colour  of 
Stilton  cheese,  damme.  Had  that  meddling  Darlington 
not  knocked  up  my  arm,  I'd  have  spitted  you  smartly." 

Elliot  listened,  his  face  alert.  At  the  last  words  he 
smiled  slightly.  Mansur  had  reached  the  point  for  which 
he  had  been  wishing.  When,  therefore,  Yerington 
sought  to  struggle  wrathfully  to  his  feet,  he  pushed  him 
back  into  his  chair — no  difficult  task,  in  his  weakened 
condition. 

"  Old  man/'  he  said,  below  his  breath,  "  in  Heaven's 
name  let  me  play  your  hand  for  you  this  once.  Trust 
me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  But  you  don't  know,"  began  Yerington,  exasperated. 

"  I  do  know,"  said  Elliot,  with  a  glance  full  of  mean- 
ing. 


AN    EXPOSE  395 

Yerington,  but  half  convinced,  shot  a  look  toward  the 
screen  that  gave  Elliot  the  exact  assurance  he  was  need- 
ing. 

"  But " 

"  Trust  me." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  shrewdness  of  his  expres- 
sion, nor  its  sincerity. 

Perforce  Yerington  yielded.  He  realised  that  Hugh 
knew  that  others  were  present,  though  the  devil  only 
could  tell  how  he  had  guessed.  He  must  resign  the 
helm  to  him.  He  had  no  hint  of  his  intentions;  but  he 
knew  that  his  loyalty,  his  native  resource  and  his  caution 
were  beyond  question.  He  sat  motionless,  with  knit 
brows,  girding  inwardly  at  the  physical  weakness  that 
held  him  at  this  disadvantage,  while  his  honour  and  the 
good  opinion  of  the  woman  of  his  heart  hung  in  the 
balance. 

Mansur  was  settling  his  neck-cloth  and  rearranging  his 
hair,  affecting  a  nonchalance  contradicted  by  the  furtive 
glances  he  cast  about  him.  His  mouth,  an  infallible  index 
to  the  mind,  hung  loosely  in  his  abandonment  of  long- 
sustained  control. 

Over  him  hovered  the  Captain  like  a  scarlet-coated 
gadfly,  his  short  cropped  head  intensifying  his  appearance 
of  rooted  aggressiveness,  smilingly  intent  on  baiting  him. 

"  So  we  finished  your  game,  good  butcher,"  he  said. 

Mansur  started  as  though  a  whip-lash  had  curled  about 
his  shoulders.  The  next  instant  he  sought  to  conceal 
the  movement  by  withdrawing  his  snuff-box  and  taking 
a  pinch  of  the  mixture.  A  trickle  of  the  snuff  escaped 
from  his  unsteady  fingers:  and  filtered  down  upon  his 
ruffles. 

"  Mayhap,"  he  drawled,  though  his  voice  was  hoarse. 
"  We're  boon  companions  in  misfortune,  Yerington  and  I. 
My  game  is  up  on  this  side,  but  France  awaits  me,  la 


396  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

belle  France!  But,"  he  leaned  forward,  his  face  trans- 
formed with  spite,  "  I  finished  your  game  first,  my 
pretty  lordling." 

Elliot  warned  Yerington's  vehement  anger  to  silence 
with  a  glance. 

"  How  foolishly  extravagant,"  he  mocked  from  where 
he  sat  upon  the  table,  one  white-clad  leg  swinging,  "  to 
throw  away  your  hard -won  position  in  the  world,  your 
entree  at  White's,  your  friendship  for  Lord  Yering- 
ton " 

Mansur  leaned  forward,  his  hands  upon  the  arms  of 
his  chair,  his  face  expressing  all  the  concentrated  hatred 
of  years. 

"  Extravagant,"  he  said  between  his  teeth,  "  to-night's 
work  would  be  cheaply  bought  with  a  life.  We  are 
told  that  love  is  sweet."  At  this  phrase,  a  new  expres- 
sion appeared  for  a  moment  on  his  face,  as  if,  in  his 
anger,  he  had  stumbled  inadvertently  upon  a  forbidden 
thought ;  but  next  moment  he  continued,  raising  his  tone, 
as  if  in  contradiction  to  an  inward  voice.  "  No,  hatred 
is  sweet,  but  revenge  sweetest  of  all." 

"  Yet  in  all  of  these,  revenge  and  love,  the  patrician 
won,"  said  Elliot,  softly. 

Mansur  flung  up  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  flamed. 

"  I'll  not  have  her  dragged  into  this,"  exclaimed  Yer- 
ington,  anticipating  what  might  follow,  and  livid  with 
wrath. 

Elliot  was  beside  him  in  a  trice. 

"  Harry,"  he  said,  "  leave  this  to  me — if,  you  love 
her." 

But  Mansur  had  heard  Yerington's  protest. 

"  So  that  hurts  Lord  Pauper,"  he  jeered. 

Elliot  could  hear  his  friend's  heavy  breathing  as  he 
struggled  to  restrain  himself. 


AN    EXPOSE  397 

'  'Tis  of  her  I  came  to  speak,"  continued  Mansur 
hoarsely,  "  and  her,  and  her,  and  her.  I'll  show  you  how 
clearly  I  read  you  from  the  first." 

"  Let  him  go  on,"  whispered  Elliot,  urgently. 

"  I  had  lost  you  your  fortune,  ruined  you,  and  then 
flung  you  away  like  a  dried  husk,  confiding  fool,"  the 
words  tumbling  over  one  another.  "  You  determined  on 
revenge.  You  knew  or  thought  you  knew  that  I  loved  the 
Lady  Philida.  You  resolved  to  win  her  and  wound  me 
there.  A  pretty  trick  for  a  gentleman  ;  but  then  you 
had  not  led  the  life  that  lent  value  in  your  eyes,  to  a 
trifle  like  a  woman's  heart." 

"Silence!"  shouted  Yerington.  "Curse  you,  Hugh, 
unloose  me ! " 

"  Prithee,  patience,  my  lord,"  sneered  Mansur. 
"  There's  humour  in  his  next  turn,  for  the  Lady  Philida, 
it  seems,  had  won  your  rakish  heart,  while  persisting  in 
her  disguise  of  Fleet  Street.  La!  you  Gowers  are 
monstrous  romantic.  It  is  a  bad  habit,  and  leads  to 
much  diluting  of  blue  blood." 

"  Fool,  he's  trapping  himself,"  whispered  the  Captain, 
restrainingly. 

"  The  end,  the  end  is  coming/'  cried  Mansur,  exult- 
ingly,  hastening  his  narrative.  "You  went  to  Marsden 
House,  intent  on  Lady  Philida,  and  revenge.  La,  la," 
casting  up  his  eyes,  "  what  a  shattering  of  pretty  pas- 
torals! She  had  deceived  you,  and  you  were  so  im- 
maculate yourself!  You  had  been  so  passionately 
enamoured  of  this  country  girl  and  her  simplicity,  that 
you  lost  faith.  You  thought  her  no  better  than  the  rest, 
and  it  was  so  easy  for  you  to  condemn,  having  yourself 
no  cause  to  ask  forgiveness  of  your  lady-love  on  one 
head  or  another.  What  a  page  for  the  Gower  annals  ! 
What  a  record  for  the  last  of  his  line!  " 

He  threw  up  his  hands  in  affected  dismay. 


398  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  But  I  forgot  your  wager-breaking.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  not  the  last  of  his  line." 

Elliot's  face  had  grown  keener  as  Mansur  had  spoken ; 
at  whose  last  word  Yerington  had  renewed  his  infuriated 
struggle  to  regain  his  feet.  Elliot's  controlling  desire 
now  was  that  at  all  odds  Mansur  should  not  be  inter- 
rupted. He  forgot  Yerington's  wounded  shoulder  in 
this  thought,  pressing  a  heavy  hand  upon  it.  It  wrung 
a  sharp  twinge  of  agony  from  the  wound  and  turned 
Yerington  faint  so  that  Mansur's  next  words  reached 
him  through  a  haze  of  pain. 

"  True,  true,"  assented  Captain  Elliot,  his  concentrated 
eyes  upon  Mansur's  face,  "  an  odd  wager  that,  and  odder 
still  the  fact  that  your  ruin  of  my  Lord  of  Yerington 
followed  so  hard  upon  the  night  that  he  bet  his  life  away 
if  he  lost  his  fortune." 

Again  the  rustle  behind  the  screen. 

"  And,"  went  on  Captain  Elliot,  "  you  knew  of  the 
bet,  and  you  saw  to  it  that  the  fortune  was  lost.  It 
smacks  to  me  of  a  conspiracy." 

Mansur's  response  was  a  laugh. 

"  So  he  is  seeking  to  saddle  it  all  upon  a  conspiracy," 
he  said,  rubbing  one  hand  upon  the  other,  over  his  knee. 
"  I  in  a  conspiracy,  with  the  slow-witted,  addle-pated 
Burroughs!"  He  repeated  this  last  phrase  with  relish, 
then  turned  to  Yerington  with  an  insulting  expression  of 
surprise.  "  But  I  was  deceived !  Well  as  I  know  this 
gentleman,  I  thought  better  of  him  than  he  deserved. 
I  never  doubted  that  he  would  pay  the  life  he  staked  so 
lightly.  But  he  had  found  a  pretty  crutch  for  his  fallen 
fortunes." 

The  words  carried  intelligence  tardily  to  Yerington's 
still  pain-dazed  mind,  but  Elliot  saw  his  face  begin  to 
darken  ominously  and  he  spoke  with  haste. 

"  No  conspiracy,  then,"  he  said ;  "  a  mere  coincidence." 


AN    EXPOSE  399 

There  was  a  bite  in  his  tone  that  roused  an  uneasi- 
ness in  Mansur,  and  so  increased  his  bluster. 

"  Not  all  coincidence,"  he  bullied ;  "  I  had  planned 
to  ruin  him.  After  the  wager  it  was  more  complete, — • 
that's  all.  We've  long  memories,  we  butchers'  sons. 
Strike  us  and  we  sting." 

He  was  standing  now,   swaying  slightly. 

"  My  compliments,  gentlemen,"  he  bowed  with  an 
elaborate  flourish.  "  Time  presses  and  I  have  other  busi- 
ness toward.  I  leave  you,  Captain  Elliot,  in  possession 
of  a  dear  and  valued  friend.  I  leave  you,  my  Lord  of 
Yerington,  in  possession  of  a  dear  and  valued  life." 

Elliot  barred  his  way  with  a  bow  as  deep  as  his  own. 

"  A  moment,  my  good  butcher,"  he  said. 

Mansur's  face  lowered. 

"  Give  way,"  he  demanded. 

"  With  pleasure,  after  I've  finished  with  you,"  returned 
Elliot,  "  and  we'll  see  to  it  that  the  apartment  is  well 
aired,  for  I  can  smell  a  traitor  as  far  as  France.  But 
now,  for  this  despised  Burroughs, — you  did  not  choose 
that  conspirator  with  your  usual  judgment.  You  deny 
conspirator.  Well,  partner, — what  you  will.  A  little 
thoughtless,  was  it  not,  to  select  a  man  who  loved  a 
woman,  who  in  her  turned  loved  Yerington  ?  " 

Mansur  staggered  back  with  an  exclamation. 

"  Just  so,"  returned  Elliot  smoothly.  "  It  was  writ- 
ten that  Lord  Burroughs  would  tell  her  all  he  knew ;  and 
next,  trust  a  woman's  hatred  as  little  as  her  love.  Each 
will  weaken  on  a  strain,  and  the  situation  was  romantic. 
Was  it  like  she  would  not  speak  when  she  knew  what  was 
at  stake  ?  " 

The  blood  flooded  to  Mansur's  face  and,  retreating, 
left  him  deathly  pale.  In  an  instant  he  recovered. 

"  Vapouring,"  he  said,  with  a  snap  of  his  fingers. 

Again  Captain  Elliot  stepped  before  him. 


400  A    DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

"  Did  it  happen,  Mr.  Mansur,"  he  said,  "  as  you 
lurked  in  the  shadows  with  your  dagger,  that  you  chanced 
to  glance  toward  my  chariot, — you  did  not?  Ah!  then 
you  failed  to  perceive  a  lady  within  it." 

Mansur  started,  then  controlled  himself,  and  lifted 
an  eyebrow  of  evil  insinuation. 

"  A  lady  ?  I've  no  wish  to  pry  into  your  secrets,  Cap- 
tain Elliot." 

"  A  lady,"  repeated  the  Captain  with  increased  mean- 
ing. "  Lady  Caroline  Dashwood." 

Mansur's  eyelids  flickered. 

"And  Lord  Burroughs'  confidante!" 

A  moment  longer  Mansur  sustained  his  gaze  before  he 
burst  out: 

"  The  fool,  the  babbling  fool!  " 

Captain  Elliot  stroked  his  shaven  upper  lip. 

"  Very  thoughtless,  Mr.  Mansur.  Addle-pated,  slow- 
witted  Burroughs!" 

"  Damn  the  man,"  sputtered  Mansur. 

"  Best  have  her  ladyship  in,"  said  Elliot,  making  a 
step  toward  the  door,  "  to  furnish  us  a  few  particulars." 

"  The  hussy,  not  for  me,"  ejaculated  Mansur,  "  un- 
less my  Lord  Yerington " 

Seeing  the  drift  of  his  friend's  intentions,  Yerington 
met  Mansur's  insinuating  glance  with  one  of  ignoring 
aloofness.  Mansur  felt  the  sting  of  it.  He  cast  a  dark 
look  at  him,  and  then  his  glance  stole  to  where  the 
dagger  lay  upon  the  hearth.  There  were  white  dents  in 
his  nostrils. 

"  The  devil  himself  cries  quits  against  a  woman,"  he 
said  hoarsely.  "  As  for  this  Lady  Caroline " 

Yerington  would  be  constrained  no  longer. 

"  I'll  not  be  cleared  at  that  price,"  he  declared,  in- 
terrupting the  threatened  flood  of  abuse. 

Mansur   turned    on    him.     "  This    pretty   peer   needs 


AN    EXPOSE  401 

friends  and  enemies,  fair  ladies  and  foul  ones,  to  get  him 
from  the  pits  he  digs  for  himself,"  he  said. 

Yerington  averted  his  eyes  from  him,  'disgust  in  every 
line  of  his  figure.  His  disdain  pricked  Mansur  to  a 
further  expression. 

"  Yes,  we  pidgeoned  you,  Burroughs  and  I,"  he  jeered 
triumphantly.  "  He,  because  he  hated  you  for  Lady 
Caroline's  sake,  and  I — you  know  why.  We  planned 
this  wager  over  our  wine  in  a  corner  of  The  Thatched 
House  tavern,  and  under  the  noses  of  a  'dozen  of  your 
cronies.  But  faith,  we  might  have  saved  ourselves  the 
trouble,"  he  ended  insolently,  "  for  you  hadn't  the  cour- 
age nor  the  honour  to  carry  it  out." 

Captain  Elliot  stepped  forward  and  lifted  the  pistol 
which  he  had  long  since  descried,  from  where  it  lay  be- 
hind a  group  of  books  upon  the  escritoire. 

"  Yerington,"  he  spoke  gravely,  "  he  has  said  too  much. 
Were  you  about  to  use  this  ?  " 

Yerington  looked  levelly  back  at  him. 

"  I'll  not  protest  to  him,"  he  replied,  contemptuously. 

"Weren't  we  just  in  time?"  persisted  Elliot. 

"  No,"  said  Yerington,  gruffly. 

"  Was — some  one  else  just  in  time?  " 

A  stubborn  contradiction  was  hovering  on  the  tip  of 
Yerington's  tongue,  when  a  faint  sound  from  behind 
the  screen  arrested  him.  Hearing  it,  he  could  not  lie. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  below  his  breath. 

Elliot  turned  upon  Mansur,  and  replaced  the  pistol 
upon  the  desk. 

"  You're  answered,"  he  said,  "  and  we've  no  further 
need  of  you.  You  have  confessed  to  the  conspiracy,  and 
the  matter  is  ended.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add 
that  the  wager  has  ceased  to  exist." 

Mansur  still  had  a  sneer. 

"Admirable,  admirable!"  he  exclaimed,  poising  upon 


402  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

his  red-heeled  shoes  with  a  reassumption  of  his  old  role  of 
dandy.  "  What  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  have  friends. 
Let  me  tell  you,  Captain  Elliot,  that  your  word  is  as 
thistledown.  A  conspiracy,  say  you?  Yes,  a  most 
palpable  conspiracy,  say  I,  'twixt  Lord  Yerington  and 
Captain  Elliot  to  clear  a  coward.  Who  is  to  prove 
that  I  have  confessed?  Where  are  your  witnesses?" 

He  jerked  about  at  the  sound  of  a  step  to  face  a 
dapper  little  gentleman  in  grey  brocade,  his  chapeau  bras 
beneath  his  arm,  who  came  mincing  toward  him. 

"  Did  you  mention  me,  Elliot?  I  am  quite  at  your 
service,  my  dear  fellow.  As  for  you,  Yerington,"  he 
put  out  his  hand,  his  face  full  of  the  emotion  he  so 
seldom  betrayed,  "  I  confess  I  misjudged  you.  Permit 
me  to  offer  my  apologies." 

Yerington  read  Mr.  Walpole's  expression.  He  knew 
that  this  intellectual  dilettante,  this  dandy  whose  code  it 
was  to  trifle  away  his  life  and  turn  all  serious  things  to 
epigrams,  had  been  sitting  in  judgment  upon  him.  He 
had  doubted  his  courage  and  good  faith. 

The  thought  had  power  to  bring  the  blood  to  Yer- 
ington's  cheek,  but  he  grasped  tKe  extended  hand  with 
his  almost  invariable  impulse  of  toleration. 

Mr.  Mansur  contrived  to  force  a  laugh. 

"  On  my  life  you  work  your  puppets  well,"  he  said, 
inspecting  Mr.  Walpole  through  his  quizzing-glass. 
"  Prithee,  who  will  you  produce  next,  -my  good  Master 
Journeyman  ?  " 

This  invitation  was  too  much  for  the  discretion  of  her 
Grace  of  Croome.  She  came  sweeping  into  view,  her 
face  sparkling  with  championship  of  the  man  she  had  re- 
cently dismissed  so  summarily. 

"  Get  this  fellow  out,  Yerington,"  she  demanded. 
"  Lud,  he  hoodwinked  me,  me,  Mary  Wentworth,"  she 
cried,  towering  with  indignation  and  lapsing  uncon- 


AN    EXPOSE  403 

sciously  into  her  maiden  name.  "There's  the  shame  of 
it.  He  hoodwinked  me !  " 

Mr.  Mansur.  threw  up  his  hands  with  an  expression 
of  admiration. 

"Good  Master  Journeyman,  what  a  collection!"  he 
cried,  affectedly.  "  Spud  me  !  what  a  collection.  Some- 
what old,  and  a  little  frayed ;  but  damned  natural." 

Before  they  could  anticipate  him,  he  darted  forward, 
and  taking  a  fold  of  the  screen,  threw  it  back  against 
the  wall. 

There  stood  Philida. 

She  was  irresistible  in  her  white  'dress,  with  her  hands 
clasped  before  her,  blushing  with  confusion,  and  yet 
glowing  with  joy  that  the  shadow  that  had  lain  between 
her  and  her  love,  had  been  dissipated.  She  was  too 
moved  for  more  than  a  moment  of  self-consciousness. 
Her  glance  flew  to  Yerington  and  rested  upon  him. 

He  watched  her,  all  his  heart  in  his  eyes.  How  un- 
utterably lovely  she  was!  How  wholly  to  be  desired! 
A  clutch  came  in  his  throat  as  he  remembered  the 
duchess'  dividing  words. 

With  a  cry  Mansur  staggered  back.  He  had  torn 
wide  the  but  half-seared  wound  in  his  own  heart.  Jeal- 
ousy raged  through  him.  He  put  up  a  hand  and  pulled 
at  his  neck-cloth.  He  looked  round  at  them  all,  and  last 
at  Philida.  His  lips  were  dry. 

"  My  congratulations,  Master  Journeyman,"  he  said, 
struggling  to  speak  lightly.  "Your  little  play  is  com- 
plete. Wounded  lover,  anxious  aunt,  faithful  friends — 
and  now  the  heroine  herself.  What  a  coup  de  theatre  ! 
Vastly  amusing,  on  my  life!  Methinks  'tis  time  the 
villain  took  himself  off." 

He  drew  himself  up,  but  despite  his  control,  his  mouth 
twisted.  He  took  a  step  toward  the  door,  a  second, 
then  he  wavered.  The  influence  Philida  exercised  al- 


401  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

most  overcame  his  pride  and  his  anger.  He  half  turned 
toward  her,  as  if  a  power  outside  himself  drew  him. 
Then  with  a  low  exclamation,  he  took  a  new  hold  on 
himself. 

He  walked  stiffly  to  the  door,  opened  it  and  disap- 
peared. 


CHAPTER   XLII 

DISENTANGLED 

I  care  not  whose  the  beauties 

Of  all  the  world  may  be, 
For  Philida— for  Philida 

Is  all  the  world  to  me! 

— AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

THEY  all  stood  listening  mechanically,  held  as  by  an 
evil  presence,  until  the  heavy  slamming  of  a  distant 
door  told  them  that  Mr.  Mansur  had  gone  out  of  their 
lives. 

At  the  sound  Philida  gave  a  little  cry.  Like  a  hom- 
ing dove  she  flew  to  Yerington.  Her  happiness  and  re- 
lief had  wiped  the  consciousness  of  witnesses  completely 
from  her  mind.  She  was  trembling  with  gladness  and 
with  the  sting  of  the  knowledge  of  what  might  have 
been. 

Yerington  felt  all  the  eloquence  of  her  clinging 
hands.  For  the  first  time  she  had  turned  to  him  in 
voluntary  surrender  and  his  love  went  out  to  her  in  a 
flood  of  tenderness,  the  deeper  that  it  overlay  a  sadness 
so  profound. 

"  Useless  lumber,"  the  duchess  had  called  him,  and 
useless  lumber  he  felt  himself  to  be. 

He  stood  motionless,  an  arm  about  Philida,  whose 
head  was  pillowed  on  his  breast.  His  eyes  met  the 
duchess'  and  they  were  filled  with  humility  and  pride. 
He  had  not  sought  this.  How  was  he  to  put  it  coldly 
from  him? 

But  her  Grace  of  Croome  was  alive  again.  She  cast 
no  reproaches  at  Philida  nor  the  embracing  arm.  She 
had  incorporated  them  into  her  scheme  of  things  with 

40$ 


406  A   DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

bewildering  completeness.  She  was  occupied  with  her 
own  line  of  thought  and  she  swept  up  and  down  the 
room  crimson  with  indignation. 

"  Lud !  lud !  I  can't  get  over  it,"  she  cried.  "  We've 
danced  for  that  canaille.  We  were  mere  puppets,  and 
he  has  pulled  the  string.  We've  danced  for  him;  and 
you're  the  worst  of  all,  Yerington,"  she  turned  with 
abrupt  accusation  to  the  earl,  her  fontange  trembling 
in  the  tempest  of  her  emotion. 

The  words  reached  Philida  and  she  was  moved  to 
almost  instinctive  defence.  On  the  instant  she  assumed 
the  role  she  was  to  play  through  life. 

"  My  lord,"  she  said,  "  hath  erred,  mayhap,  through 
too  much  faith  in  others.  His  own  heart  is  not  a  trust- 
ful guide,  being  too  little  given  to  suspecting  evil." 
Her  fear  for  what  was  past,  suddenly  overflowed. 
"  But,  oh !  my  lord,  henceforth  guard  thy  dear  life  for 
my  sake." 

Her  eyes  were  upon  him,  her  head  back-tilted  in  her  ear- 
nest of  reply  and  reassurance.  Her  re-established  faith  in 
him  had  blotted  from  her  mind  all  that  her  aunt  had 
spoken  earlier  in  the  interview. 

Yerington  looked  down  into  her  face,  his  own  filled 
with  a  shadow  of  self-condemnation  to  which  her  faith 
in  him  had  added  the  last  touch. 

The  duchess  noted  his  sadness  and  she  felt  a  pang 
of  conscience.  She  approached  and  laid  a  gentle  hand 
upon  his  bandaged  shoulder. 

"  Harry,"  she  said,  "  unless  you  learn  to  value  my 
words  more  justly,  the  future  will  scarce  be  without  its 
jars.  You  have  been  abominably  used.  Not  without 
fault,  but  more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  I'll  not 
gainsay  you: — the  little  maid  is  yours." 

His  continued  silence  awakened  a  touch  of  surprised 
shyness  in  the  girl  he  held  in  his  arms.  For  the  first 


DISENTANGLED  407 

time  the  blush  crept  into  her  cheeks  and  she  felt  a  pained 
consciousness  of  the  group  about  her.  Like  a  bird  she 
fluttered  back  from  him. 

As  he  felt  her  shrinking,  a  spasm  crossed  his  face. 
He  did  not  yield  to  her  movement,  but  held  her  close. 
Looking  up,  she  grew  conscious  of  his  set  lips  and  in- 
trospective eyes. 

"  Lud !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  irritable  because  she 
felt  an  added  twinge  of  self-reproach.  "  I  spoke  hastily, 
I  admit,  but  why  not  let  bygones  be  bygones?  Phi- 
lida's  fortune  is  more  than  enough  for  you  both.  I  know 
your  race  and  your  mending  qualities  or  I  never  would 
have  entrusted  the  child  to  you.  Forswear  gambling 
and  take  to  politics.  You  have  brains  if  you  would 
but  use  them." 

Yerington's  feeling  was  too  deep  to  be  dissipated  by 
a  few  phrases. 

"La!"  persisted  the  duchess  sharply.  "Every  dun- 
derhead knows  'tis  the  duty  of  a  man  of  long  line  to 
marry  money.  If  I  had  a  younger  son,  and  he  did  not 
go  heiress-hunting,  I  would  disown  him." 

Over  Philida's  head  Yerington's  gaze  sought  out  and 
met  Elliot's.  At  that  moment  he  wanted  a  man's  deeper 
comprehension.  Their  glances  crossed,  and  Elliot  un- 
derstood. 

He  knew  that  Yerington  was  drinking  deep  of  the 
waters  of  humiliation,  and  that,  though  they  were  bitter, 
they  were  wholesome. 

The  knowledge  he  was  facing  seared  deep  into  Yer- 
ington's soul.  But  that  moment  of  profound  discour- 
agement held  within  it  the  germ  of  regeneration.  It  was 
the  ebb-tide  of  self-complacency,  when  the  waters  of  false 
ideals  had  receded  and  left  the  bare  rocks  of  his  history 
stark  and  ugly,  for  his  disillusioned  soul  to  read  in  all 
their  nakedness. 


408  A  DISCIPLE    OF    CHANCE 

He  turned  from  Elliot  to  Philida,  his  eyes  heavy  with 
self-accusation,  to  find  her  face  aquiver  and  aglow. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  whispered  eagerly,  "  we  shall 
go  on  together,  you  and  I.  I'll  share  it  all  with 
you." 

Her  beautiful  faith  and  love  overcame  him.  He 
bowed  his  head  over  her. 

"  My  love,  my  love,"  he  whispered  brokenly. 

A  thousand  hopes  and  promises  rushed  to  his  lips; 
but  he  could  not  utter  them. 

He  could  only  hold  her  close. 

A  jealous  pang  shot  through  the  duchess.  She  turned 
and  met  Captain  Elliot's  kindly,  penetrating  gaze,  and 
she  responded  to  it  with  a  brave  smile,  though  her  eyes 
were  moist. 

"  They  don't  need  us,  Captain,"  she  said.  "  We'd 
best  find  employment  for  ourselves.  What  of  this  Lady 
Caroline,  cooling  her  heels  in  your  chariot  ?  I've  little 
love  for  her,  but  she  has  done  us  a  good  turn  at  last, 
the  minx ;  it's  ill  courtesy  to  leave  her  longer." 

Captain  Elliot  became  preternaturally  grave. 

"  'Pon  honour,"  he  said,  "  this  Lady  Caroline  has 
ways  of  her  own,  and  'tis  like  she  is  whisked  away  like 
the  fairy  godmother  in  the  tale,  now  that  she  has  waved 
her  wand." 

"  Lud !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  "  not  at  this  hour !  She 
is  too  careful  of  her  reputation." 

She  could  not  resist  the  thrust. 

Captain  Elliot  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  a 
twinkle. 

"  But  she  had  her  robe  of  invisibility  with  her/'  he 
said. 

Something  in  his  tone  roused  his  hearer's  suspicions. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say,"  she  questioned  sharply, 
*'  that  she  never  had  been  there  ?  " 


DISENTANGLED  409 

"  I  do,  precisely,  ma'am,"  he  responded,  with  a  low 
bow. 

It  was  a  trick  after  the  duchess'  own  heart.  She 
threw  herself  in  a  chair  with  a  choke  of  laughter,  to  wipe 
her  eyes  and  laugh  again. 

Walpole's  joy  was  as  profound  as  her  own. 

"  Gad's  life,"  he  exclaimed,  with  keen  relish.  "  Lady 
Caroline  to  play  down  centre,  and  not  be  able  to  ogle 
her  audience." 

"  Lud !  "  gasped  the  duchess,  "  my  lacings  will  sure 
crack  this  time.  Mark  you,  Horry,  there  was  the  canny 
Scot,  if  you  will.  He  took  Mansur's  ace  with  a  deuce, 
and  the  hussy  never  knew  he  had  used  her.  What  a 
rare  tale!  How  can  I  pay  you  for  it?" 

The  Captain  spoke  below  his  breath. 

"Say  a  good  word  for  me,  to  Mistress  Armytage," 
he  murmured. 


THE   END 


000 


